Primatech 815
by Starr Dust
Summary: A plane crash unites a group of strangers. Heroes character in the Lost verse - ON HIATUS
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Primatech 815  
**Fandom:** Heroes (Crossover with Lost)  
**Characters:** Ando, Bennet, Claire, Claude, Hiro, Isaac, Peter, Matt, Micah, Mohinder, Niki, Simone, Sylar (more to come)  
**Rating:** R  
**Summary:** A plane crash unites a group of strangers.  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Heroes or Lost.  
**Warnings:** AU, Violence, Action/Adventure, Drug use, Het, Slash, Crossover/Fusion

**Chapter 1**

Peter shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he gazed out the airplane's window. He couldn't see much. It was nothing by white fluffy clouds and clear blue sky as far as the eye could see. Yet that didn't stop his stomach from tying itself into a knot. It didn't stop the rocking of the cabin from unnerving him. It didn't stop his drink from feeling too damn weak. He wished the plane would just hurry up and land. He wanted nothing more than to safely arrive in Los Angeles and grab his connecting flight to New York. The sooner this ordeal was over, the better.

"Enjoying your drink?"

The young man flinched as he turned and looked over at the pretty young flight attendant standing over him, smiling warmly at his haggard state. He tried his best to flash her a polite smile as he sat up straighter in his seat, fixing his tie with one hand and grasping his drink with the other.

"It's fine," he assured her, although his answer didn't seem to please the woman.

"That wasn't a very strong answer," she joked, her brown eyes twinkling with mischief.

He chuckled nervously as he ran a hand through his hair. "Well... it's not a very strong drink."

The woman smiled as she glanced over her shoulder quickly before discretely handing him two small bottles of vodka. "Maybe this'll help."

Peter smiled as he took the offered bottles and placed them on his tray. "Thanks..." he paused awkwardly to glance down at her name tag "...Eden."

"Not a problem," she smiled, winking at him playfully before continuing to push her beverage cart down the isle.

He watched her for a moment longer before slipping one of the bottles into his suit pocket. Given the week he'd been having, Peter had a feeling he'd need it later on. He sighed as he cracked the seal on the other bottle, pouring its contents into his orange juice before sipping it lightly. The plane lurched roughly, causing a few drops to spill onto his cheeks. It was then that he decided it would be best to give up and just go to the bathroom and deal with his ailing stomach.

However, just as he started to move towards the isle, he was suddenly knocked back into his seat as the man sitting across the row from him unexpectedly sprang forward, bumping into him roughly. Peter glared at the man's retreating back as he headed towards the bathrooms.

"Sorry about him," a feminine voice said, catching Peter's attention. "He's... he's a bit of a nervous flier."

Peter turned towards the voice, ready to retort, but he quickly found his breath caught in his throat as he gazed into a pair of startling green eyes. His cheeks flushed as the tanned woman smiled apologetically at him. He suddenly felt very ashamed of himself for noticing how beautiful she was. He was in no position to be checking women out, especially when they were traveling with male companions.

"Yeah," he muttered nervously. "I guess he really had to go."

The young woman looked as if she were about to grant him a polite chuckle at his attempted at small talk, but the plane was suddenly hit by a particularly harsh bout of turbulence. The two quickly sat straighter in their respective seats, but Peter couldn't help noticing the way the young woman clutched fearfully at the arms of her chair. He suddenly couldn't help but feel contempt for the man she was traveling with. How could he leave her when she was obviously fearful of flying herself?

"Don't worry," he assured her. "It's just a little bit of turbulence. It's normal."

She laughed anxiously, her face growing pale with fear. "I... I guess I'm not a very good flier either."

Peter smiled, about to introduce himself to her, but he was suddenly cut off as one of the flight attendant's voice suddenly came on over the intercom.

"Attention passengers," the woman began, and Peter quickly realized that it was Eden who was speaking. "The pilot has turned on the 'Fasten Seatbelts' sign..."

"I'm Simone," the woman across from him quickly said. Peter knew right away that she was telling him this as a way to distract herself from their current situation.

"Peter," he returned, buckling his seatbelt as calmly as possible. The cabin shook once more and Peter could see from the corner of his eyes that Simone's fingers were quickly turning white from their tight grip on her armrest. "Don't worry Simone. I'll look after you until he comes back."

She turned to gaze at him, fear and comfort clashing in her bright green eyes. However, Peter didn't have time to melt at the sight or even turn away and blush as the cabin once again shook, only this time much rougher, as if some force were trying to pull it out of the sky. His heart must have stopped for a good minute as he felt his whole being start to drop from the sky before abruptly stopping. He heard the horrified gasps and cries of pain fill the air as many of his fellow passengers flew from their seats and crashed into the ceiling. An oxygen mask quickly appeared in front of him then while Peter scrambled to put it on as the screech of warning sirens being set off filled the air of the cabin. As he felt the plane abruptly drop out of the sky and towards the water below, Peter silently hoped that Simone would be alright.

-+-+-+-

Peter gasped at the pain rapidly shooting from his back as he laid spread out on a surface that seemed too soft and far too moist. It took a few minutes for his eyes to adjust to the blinding sunlight, but when they did he was horrified to find that he was now lying in the middle of a jungle. There were tall stocks of bamboo surrounding him, birds chirping in the distance, and a far too loud buzzing in his ears.

As soon as his heart slowed down to a more reasonable pace, he began to test himself out. His fingers were curling, his toes were wiggling from within his dress shoes, and his arms and legs, although incredibly sore, did not seem to be broken. He patted down his chest, checking to make sure everything was alright and was startled to feel something hard greet his finger tips. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he found the bottle of vodka he had slipped in there, still in tack.

Slowly, the young man got up, surprised that his back did not seem to be broken, although there was a strong twinge at his side and a shooting pain running through his limbs. That didn't worry him, however. What did worry him was the fact that he was all alone.

The plane. The plane must have crashed. But where was it? Where were the others?

No longer worried about his own state, Peter scrambled to his feet before taking off in a mad dash towards the horizon. He didn't know where he was going, but he knew he'd find someone eventually if he just kept running. His efforts were soon rewarded when the sound of fire crackling and people screaming began to fill his ears. The tree line was starting to thin, he could see a beach ahead of him. Pushing his way through the branches, Peter soon found himself marching on clean white sand. His heart pounded as he turned his head to his left and took in the horrifying scene playing out before his eyes.

There was the plane, or at least what was left of it, in a heap of smoke and twisted metal spread out across the beach. As far as he could see the nose and tail section of the plane were gone. Only the fuselage remained and it was currently ripped up with one wing stretched out into the sky and the other scattered across the beach. The engine was still in tack, spinning dangerously close to a few survivors and sucking up bits of debris. All along the shore line people were crawling around blindly, frantically calling out names, screaming for help, and generally getting in the way. It was then that his medical training kicked in and Peter felt himself once again sprinting towards the chaos.

The first man he came across was screaming for help as he tried to lift a piece of landing gear off of his legs. Peter was at his side in an instant, trying his best to lift the piece of metal off of the poor man's body, but it wouldn't budge. He looked across the beach, trying to find someone who wasn't badly injured to help him, before his eyes finally landed on an Indian man about his height and build.

"Hey!" he screamed towards him. "Hey you! Come help me lift this!"

The other man nodded mutely as he rushed over to his side, grasping the opposite end of the landing gear. Another man came running towards them, seeing what they were trying to do and moved to grab the pinned man's arms.

"On three," Peter began, "_you_ lift and _you_ pull. 1... 2... 3!"

As soon as he said the final number, the two men did as he had directed and freed the injured man, revealing a mess of blood and ripped skin. He grimaced at the sight, crouching down next to the wounded man and carefully studied his damaged leg. The bone was broken and needed to be set. Ripping off a piece of the man's pants, he grabbed his bloodied appendage and snapped it back into place before wrapping the shredded cloth around the harmed leg. He would have stayed and helped move him, but the frightened scream of a young woman suddenly caught his ears.

"Get him out of here," Peter screamed over his shoulder as he sprinted across the beach. "And get everyone away from that engine!"

The Indian man nodded as he and the other man began lifting the man's limp body away from the flames and shouted at everyone within ear shot to stay clear of the still spinning engine.

Unfortunately, there was one man who didn't seem to heed their warning in time, and within the blink of an eye, was sucked into the plane's engine, causing it to burst into flames and sending shards of metal flying across the beach. The ground beneath him shook and Peter had to fight to stay on his feet.

Peter watched as the man who'd bumped into him earlier wandered around the beach in a daze, causing Peter's mind to flash to Simone. His train of thought was interrupted as he bumped shoulders with an Asian man in business attire who ran past him, frantically screaming something. Peter felt himself trip and land face first on the sand. He quickly gathered himself and looked up, only to find a frightened young teenage girl trembling before him.

He scrambled to his feet and called to her. "Hey! Hey are you alright?"

"Y-yeah," she stuttered. "I'm... I'm fine. J-just-"

"What's your name?" he cut her off, glancing over her and seeing no serious injuries, just a few scratches and a bruise here and there.

"Claire," she told him, her voice quivering and small.

"Claire," he repeated, doing his best to keep her focused on him. "Every thing's going to be okay. Just get away from the engine and go find someone you came with."

"N-no. I'm alone."

Peter felt his heart clench at the girl's words. He wanted nothing more than to stay with her, to protect her and tell her everything would be okay, but he had to push those thoughts away. There were other people, seriously injured people, who needed his help right now. "Well, then wait for me. I promise I'll come look for you."

He heard Claire start to protest, but his eyes suddenly landed on a terrifying sight. Across the beach he saw Simone, lying still on her back as a heavy set man pumped her chest, attempting to give her CPR, but doing it improperly. He sprinted towards them, feeling a strong pang of guilt for leaving Claire so suddenly.

"What's wrong with her?" he asked the man tending to Simone once he was within earshot of him.

"She's not breathing," the other man said suddenly.

"Her head's not titled back far enough," he told him. "You're blowing air into her stomach." He tilted Simone's head backwards in order to adequately fill her lungs with air.

"Really?" the man beside him asked sheepishly. Clearly he didn't really remember his CPR training.

"Yeah," Peter said quickly as he began to pump her chest roughly. "I'm a nurse, I know."

He bent down, pressing his lips firmly over Simone's and began to blow, trying not to think about how this could be the closest thing to a kiss he'd ever give her. After a few more pumps, Simone soon jerked back to life, coughing and trembling as her body struggled to breath. Peter wanted to smile at her, say something witty and romantic, but his eyes were drawn to the plane's wing, which was currently twisting and creaking in the wind. It looked as if it were going to come crashing down any second now.

That's when he noticed that Claire, still looking frightened and lost, was standing right under neath the wing. His heart beat hammered in his chest as he raced towards her, arms flailing and voice straining. She turned to look at him, her eyes wide with confusion, but he didn't give her a chance to say anything as he grabbed her small arm in his hands and began to drag her away. They couldn't have gotten more than a yard away before the wing came crashing down to the sand, throwing them in the air and across the beach.

His head was buzzing, the ground was shaking, and sand had gotten into his nose and mouth, but he felt reassured just by hearing Claire's shaky breath beside him.

"I am _never_ flying Primatech Airlines again!" the girl gasped as she scrambled back onto her feet.

-+-+-+-

"How old are you Claire?" Peter asked, winching as he felt the sowing needle pierce the torn skin of his back.

Peter glanced over his shoulder and saw Claire's skin turn several shades whiter as she carefully sowed together his injury. He couldn't help but envy her. The plane had been ripped apart in mid-air, crashed on an island in the middle of nowhere and the girl barely had a scratch on her.

"S-sixteen," she told him nervously. It was more than obvious from the look on her face that she was clearly disgusted by her task.

"Sixteen?" he repeated curiously. A small part of him felt guilty for asking someone so young to do this for him, but he was injured and she knew how to sow. The best thing he could do now was keep the teenager's mind away from what she was doing. Otherwise, she might pass out or throw up on him. "And you traveled all the way to Australia by yourself?"

"Y-yeah."

"What were you doing in Sydney?"

The blond girl paused awkwardly as she tied off the thread. "I... I was looking for something."

Peter nodded thoughtfully, knowing that "something" really meant "someone," and Claire obviously didn't want to talk about it.

"I guess we're all pretty lucky," Claire comment as she packed away the small sowing kit that Peter had found in someone's luggage. "Besides surviving a plane crash, we actually have a doctor with us."

Peter laughed, shaking his head wearily. It still amused him that so many people looked at him and thought "doctor." "Actually, I'm a nurse. Peter Petrelli."

-+-+-+-

Mohinder felt his stomach tighten nervously as he walked through the group of survivors. He had counted them, over and over again in his head, remembering to include himself, the nurse who had busied himself jumping from injured person to person, and the teenager girl who was always at his elbow. There were forty six of them in total. All of the survivors seemed to have gathered together, forming tight knit groups and taking turns comforting one another.

A heavy set man had enlisted a dazed young man with wavy brown hair and his brown skinned girlfriend to assist him in building a signal fire on the beach. Two Asian men sat near the ocean, whispering to each other in their native tongue. A woman and her young son were wandering through the group of survivors, trying to find a spot to sit by themselves. A lone figure had wandered as far away from the group as possible and sat by himself.

Everyone was settling into their own little world.

He sighed, gazing at the sky and noticing how quickly the sun was sinking on the horizon. Forty six just seemed too few. They were missing and Mohinder didn't know whether to think they were dead or alive. He felt his fingers ball themselves into tight fists as he shook the thought out of his head. No, Audrey couldn't be dead. She was too strong and too brave to die like this. The other one...

His train of thought was interrupt when he suddenly caught a glimpse of the young nurse crouching over a woman with short blonder hair and a line of freckles spread across her nose. She looked so small and so weak as the nurse carefully wrapped her head with a bandage.

Mohinder felt his heart beat quicken as his legs carried him over to the make shift tent that the nurse and the teenager had quickly assembled in order to protect their "patient."

"Is she alright?" Mohinder asked once he was close enough for the brown haired man to hear him.

The nurse looked up at him, confusion clear in his wide eyes as he gently ran his fingers near a piece of shrapnel embedded into Audrey's stomach. Mohinder felt his whole body grow cold as Audrey moaned pathetically, taking shallow breaths while the young man probed her injury. The Indian man knew right away that if they did not get her to a hospital soon, Audrey would not make it.

"Do you know her?"

Mohinder's throat tightened at the question. If _He_ was dead, then there was no need to tell anyone just who he and Audrey were and cause his fellow survivors to panic unnecessarily. Yet, and Mohinder felt it was far too likely, if _He_ was still alive, they were all in grave danger.

"She... she was sitting next to me."

-+-+-+-

Simone shuddered, wrapping the airplane blanket that Isaac had found for her tighter around her body. She could tell from the lucid look in his eyes, that he had already come down off his high. That should have comforted her. The fact that the two of them had managed to survive a plane crash without serious injury _should_ have comforted her, but there were too many horrible thoughts floating through her mind to feel at ease.

She couldn't help but think about how she could have died, how she _almost died_, and was only sitting here huddled next to her artist boyfriend because the shy young man who had been sitting across from them on the plane just happened to be a nurse. She couldn't help but think about how instead of staying in his seat and holding her hand, her artist boyfriend had run into the bathroom to get a quick high. She couldn't help but think about how said artist boyfriend had been too high to even bother to find her after their plane had crashed and she had to be the one to look for him.

Simone sighed, rubbing at her small arms and wishing that she had worn a jacket on the plane. Night had fallen quickly and the temperature, which had felt unbearably hot during the day, and dropped significantly.

"It'll be okay, babe," Isaac whispered to her, wrapping a reassuring arm around her waist and pulling her closer.

"You think they would have come by now."

Simone flinched, turning to stare at the man who had asked them to help build the signal fire. He sat across from them, hunched over in defeat staring blankly into the fire blazing a few feet in front of them. They had managed to get it fairly big--something that a large craft would be sure to spot from the sea or the air--and many of the other people around them had went ahead and built their own fires to keep each other safe and warm.

"Who?" Isaac asked, tightening his grip on Simone.

The man sighed wearily, gazing over at them. "Anyone."

-+-+-+-

"Are you sure you're warm enough?" Niki asked, running her slim fingers through Micah's tight black curls.

After the fires had died out, the survivors had managed to find a few supplies in the plane that they could use for the night. A blue tarp had been divided among each group, trays of food were handed out, and the pillows and blankets had been fought over. Niki had managed to get the most, Micah's presence being her constant motivation. He needed them. He needed to feel safe and comfortable, and she'd do anything she could to make sure he was just that.

Micah gave her a short nod as he curled into his make shift bed using her lap as a pillow. The boy hadn't said anything to her since the plane had taken off, yet after this experience, she couldn't really blame him.

She sighed as she continued the soothing gesture. Micah didn't need this. His father had just died, he had lost everything that he had ever known, and now they had to go through this horrible ordeal. She could only pray that the rescue boats came quickly. Her poor son didn't need to be trapped on this island.

-+-+-+-

'Do you think they'll be alright?' Hiro asked, gazing worriedly at the mother and son sitting across from them. It was still taking a while for him to wrap his mind around what had just happened. One minute he had been reading comics and playfully teasing Ando and then the next thing he knew they were stuck on a strange beach.

He was lucky. They were all very lucky, but Hiro felt very fortunate because his glasses weren't broken. Once the turbulence had started, Hiro knew instantly that they were going to crash and for one horrible moment he had envisioned his lenses breaking and shooting into his eyes like a scene from a horror movie. He would have taken them off if Ando had not shooed his hands away from his face and forcefully placed the oxygen mask on him.

'Don't worry about them,' Ando chided, busying himself by drawing figures in the sand. 'We have to worry about each other. We'll stick together and watch out for each other. That way we will stay safe.'

'But what if someone needs help?' Hiro interjected. He knew right away that Ando was scared. He always got bossy when he was scared. 'A hero wouldn't ignore someone in need.'

Ando turned and gave him a weary look. Hiro knew that look very well. It was the look his best friend gave him whenever he brought up comic books in a situation Ando deemed "inappropriate." 'This is no time to be a hero,' he sighed, shaking his head wearily.

-+-+-+-

"We must have hit an air pocket mid flight," Peter explained. "Dropped down maybe two hundred feet. The turbulence was... I blacked out."

Audrey was resting. Her was condition stable for now, but he knew that he couldn't really do much for her here. She needed a hospital and he could only pray that the rescue boats were on their way or would at least reach them by morning.

Claire sat next to him, hugging her knees to her chest as she listened intently to his words. She hadn't left his side all day, even as he tended to everyone's injuries. He felt a bit proud of her. She was handling herself fairly well considering the situation.

"I didn't," Claire announced suddenly. "I saw the whole thing. I knew the back section was gone, but I was too scared to look... and then the front of the plane ripped off."

Peter swallowed, his throat suddenly feeling extremely dry. That certainly was something no sixteen year old should have to witness. "Well, it's not here on the beach," he went on, wanting to change the subject and hopefully get the girl's mind away from the horrifying visual.

"I saw some smoke," Claire told him. "Coming from the valley... maybe a few miles in land."

He nodded thoughtfully at her words. "The plane most likely had a transceiver," he explained to her. "We could probably use it to send out a distress signal and help everyone get rescued. It'd most likely be in the cockpit."

"How do you know all that?"

"My brother was a pilot in the Navy," Peter explained, feeling his throat tightened at the mention of his older sibling. "Flying kinda became a hobby of his... He took me up in his plane a few times."

Claire nodded thoughtfully as she processed his words. "If you're thinking about going into the jungle to look for the cockpit, then I'm coming with you."

Peter shifted awkwardly at the girl's determined words. He knew right away he wasn't going to be able to convince her to stay behind. He was just about to agree with her declaration when something interrupted him.

A strange mechanical sound suddenly echoed through the jungle. The noise was like nothing he had ever heard and the volume was loud enough to grab the attention of everyone on the beach. They all jerked to their feet to stare in awe as a thundering boom came from the jungle as trees were knocked down and the ground shook.

Peter knew right then and there that they all had to get off of this island. Fast.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Heroes or Lost.  
**Warnings:** AU, Violence, Action/Adventure, Drug use, Het, Slash, Crossover/Fusion

**Chapter 2**

Mohinder had overheard the nurse's plan to go into the jungle last night and knew that he had to act quickly. As soon as dawn had peaked onto the horizon he had snuck into the medical tent to check on Audrey. She was still unconscious and weak, but Mohinder knew that he could count on Peter to look after her, for now at least. Carefully, he dug through the small pile that Peter had placed her belongings in and searched for her gun. He knew that Audrey had brought five in a case, but she had also had one on her. At the moment, she wasn't going to be able to use it, but he could try to put it to some use.

It didn't take long before Mohinder's fingers touched the cold metal object. Once he had it safely secured on his body he crept away from his fellow survivors and into the jungle.

He was out there. Mohinder knew it. The man was like a cockroach; impossible to be rid of. He doubted that even a plane crash could kill him. Yet the jungle was dense, and there was barely enough sunlight for him to make out anything. He wandered aimlessly for what seemed like hours before his eyes caught sight of something shiny. He crouched down to inspect the object, brushing away a few stray twigs.

Mohinder felt his heart stop dead in his chest when he lifted the object and found that it was a pair of handcuffs. There was only one passenger that had been wearing these. He was about to get up, knowing that he was on the right track, but something stopped him. Before he could even figure out what it was, something slammed into the back of his head, causing the world to fade to black.

-+-+-+-

Peter sighed as he checked his watch. From what he could tell, it was still working, but was it accurate? He was still running on Australia time and the plane... They must have been well out of that time zone when they crashed here. He tapped the faceplate absentmindedly. According to the wrist watch, it was now eleven in the morning, but it felt much earlier than that.

Audrey's condition hadn't changed since yesterday. The head wound she'd sustained during the crash would have normally gotten his full attention, if it weren't for the large piece of metal sticking out of her stomach. If his quest into the jungle didn't go well, he'd probably have to remove it and hope for the best. He could only pray that they'd be able to find enough alcohol in the plane to help clean her injuries before he could attempt to preform "surgery" on her.

"Hey. Hey! Has anybody seen the doctor?"

Peter felt his head snap up at the sound of a man's frantic voice. He turned to see a tall man with pale skin and short black hair emerge from the jungle. The young man felt his eyes widen and his throat go dry when he noticed that the man had an unconscious Mohinder slung over his shoulders.

"Nurse," Claire corrected as she led the man in his direction. "He's a nurse... and what happened to Mr. Suresh?"

The man grunted as he staggered over towards Peter's tent. The young nurse rushed over to his side, helping him to slide Mohinder's still body gently to the ground. "We were in the woods... jungle," he began, huffing wearily as he adjusted the Indian man's body onto the sand. "He... he said he was looking for something... didn't say what. Then... then he fell. He fell and banged his head."

Peter sucked his teeth as he gently turned Mohinder's head. A small amount of blood was seeping from the back of his skull, but it didn't look too serious. "Claire, go grab me some alcohol," he instructed as he picked up a clean rag beside him. "He'll be alright. Just need to put pressure on his wound."

"Good," the other man breathed, worry etched all over his face. "That's good."

The young man shifted uncomfortably as he studied the stranger's intense gaze. "Do you know him?" he asked. He hadn't seen him yesterday. In fact, yesterday, the only person Mohinder had been concerned with was the woman lying unconscious just a few inches away from them.

The pale man looked at him then, his dark eyes strangely unsettling. "Yeah," he nodded. "It's... it's complicated. Sorry 'bout the whole... 'doctor' thing."

"It's alright," Peter shrugged as his eyes suddenly caught sight of the other man's wrists. They were red and the skin was torn and bruised. "It happens all the time. What's your name?"

"Gabriel. Gabriel Gray."

-+-+-+-

"So how much money do you think we're all going to get after we sue Primatech Airlines?"

Simone laughed softly at Isaac's joke. The last thing she needed was money. Her father had more than enough of that. What she did need was a nice hot shower. And some sun screen. "I doubt we'll even have to sue," she pointed out, adjusting herself so that her skin was out of the intense light. "Their plane crashed. They'd have to give us _something_."

"Anybody have any sunblock?" Niki asked, checking her fair skin for sun burns.

"I probably have some in my bag," Matt announced. "You know, we should probably start sorting through the luggage. Who knows how long we're going to be here, and the nurse could probably use some of the medicine people packed."

"Doesn't that seem kind of... wrong?" Simone asked timidly. Somehow, even in their situation, it just felt strange to go through other people's belongings.

"Well, yeah," Matt shrugged. "But it's not like we won't be letting people claim their own stuff. We'll just take what we need from the..." The man's words trailed off as all eyes slowly drifted to Micah. The poor kid couldn't have been more than ten years old, and yet he was already surround by so much death. "From the ones who won't be needing it."

"But what about the bodies?" Micah pipped up. "Are we going to bury them?"

"Don't talk like that, baby," Niki chided, wrapping an awkward arm around her son's shoulders. "When the rescue boats come, they'll take care of them."

"But Mom, it's been a whole day," Micah reminded her. "If anyone was going to save us, they should have come by now."

The circle of strangers quickly fell silent at the child's words. They all knew he was right.

Simone looked up and felt a smile spread across her features when she saw Peter approaching the group. She had never really considered herself to be a very spiritual person, but she couldn't help but feel blessed to have someone like Peter here on the island with them.

"Claire and I are heading into the jungle to find the plane's transceiver," Peter announced as he crouched down between Matt and Niki.

"Do you think you'll be able to find it?" Matt asked, giving the younger man a quizzical look.

Peter nodded, adjusting his weight as he sunk into the sand. "The transceiver will most likely be in the cockpit. Claire saw some smoke coming from the center of the jungle, so we figured that's where the front of the plane landed." Peter paused, focusing his attention solely on Matt. "The woman in my tent is still sleeping. If she wakes up, just try to keep her calm until I come back and whatever you do, _don't_ let her take out the shrapnel in her stomach."

Matt nodded thoughtfully as the young nurse started to stand up, but Isaac jumped up before he could fully straighten himself.

"Why don't I come with you guys?" Isaac quickly suggested, causing Simone to turn and give her boyfriend an incredulous look.

"You want to go?" she asked.

"Yeah," the painter shrugged, seeming far too peppy and eager for Simone's liking. Something was up. "Sitting around doing nothing is making me feel a bit jittery. Besides, I could use the exercise."

Peter shrugged indifferently, although Simone could see from his tense posture that something about Isaac was making the other man feel uneasy. "Th-that's fine," Peter stuttered. "But if you want to go, then you'd better get ready now. We're leaving soon."

Isaac nodded as he followed Peter towards the line of trees where Claire was waiting.

"Alright," Simone shrugged as she picked herself up off of the beach. "I guess I'll help you guys clear the beach."

"Good," Matt nodded. "I suppose I should be sure to stay near Peter's tent though."

The tanned woman smiled as she brushed a few grains of sand off of her legs. "So Matt, what was it you did back in the 'real world'?"

The man chuckled as he headed towards the fuselage. "I'm a cop."

-+-+-+-

Mohinder moaned as he slowly came back into the conscious world. His head ached and his vision was blurred. Looking over to his left, he could see that he was in the medical tent, lying less than a foot away from Audrey's still form. She was turning white and barely breathing, but the fact that she was still alive comforted him.

The Indian man groaned as he closed his eyes and cradled his head in his hands. The last thing that he could remember was wandering through the jungle looking for...

As soon as the thought entered his mind, a strong hand grasped his shoulder, pressing him deeper into the soft ground. His eyes flew open, and his brown skin drained of its color as he gazed into the intense brown orbs staring down at him.

"Enjoy your nap, Professor?"

The Indian man felt his whole body tighten as the figure looming above him slowly pulled out a piece of metal that he had sharpened into a knife. That's how he worked. That was how he always killed his victims: take a knife, and slit their throats. Quick and quiet.

"Sylar," he gasped as the man pressed his make shift weapon against his throat.

"Shh," he hushed. "We don't want to wake up Marshal Hanson."

"Where's Peter?"

"Nurse Handsome took his two friends, Blondie and Droopy, into the woods to look for the cockpit." Sylar flashed him a cold smile as he lightly slid the blade along Mohinder's neck. He hadn't broken any skin, Mohinder could tell as much, but that didn't stop the chill from running up and down his spine. "It's just you and me, Professor."

Mohinder swallowed, feeling the shard of metal dig into his skin as he did so. Sweat was pouring down his face and his throat felt bone dry. "Are you going to kill me?"

Sylar chuckled, a humorless sound that made his stomach tighten, as he leaned in closer. "Now why would I do a thing like that?"

He shuddered, feeling Sylar's hot breath on his face as the gravity of the situation finally sunk in. He never should have gone to Australia in the first place.

+-+-+-+

_Mohinder shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying his best to press himself against the window of the plane. He didn't care to take in the clear blue sky or bright white clouds passing by. He only wanted to pretend that he wasn't sitting next to a doped up serial killer on board a plane with far too many innocent passengers. Even pumped full of drugs, Sylar was a dangerous man and Mohinder couldn't imagine why they had allowed them on the plane with only one US Marshall and a handgun to protect everyone._

_No. Not one gun. Six guns. Hanson had to check her other five. Although she had tried to convince the airline to allow Mohinder to carry a weapon as well, but they wouldn't allow it. A big part of him was relieved for that. God forbid he actually had to use it and ended up hitting a passenger instead of the serial killer._

_"Take it easy, Mohinder," Hanson muttered as she took another sip of her orange juice. Placing the small plastic cup back down on her tray, she went back to flipping through her magazine absentmindedly. He wished she would take this more seriously. Just because Sylar had been drugged into unconsciousness and handcuffed to his seat, didn't mean he wasn't still dangerous. "The worst part is over."_

_Mohinder frowned as he adjusted himself so that he was able to see her over Sylar's lumbering form. "Ms. Hanson-"_

_"Audrey," she corrected._

_"Audrey," he started again, "I don't see how you can be so relaxed. If Sylar wakes up-"_

_"He won't wake up," she snorted, flipping a page roughly. "And if he does, we'll just give him another shot and put him back out. You don't have to worry about anything Mohinder. This is the easy part. We caught Sylar. As soon as we land in LAX, we'll be heroes."_

_The Indian man stiffened as the plane suddenly jerked as it was hit by turbulence. Sylar groaned and slumped towards him, his head mere inches away from his shoulder. Mohinder felt his insides twist into knots as the pilot flicked on the "fasten seatbelt" sign and one of the flight attendances made an announcement over the intercom. His hands began to tremble as he buckled himself into his seat. The turbulence didn't bother him, but the idea of having to stand trial, of having to finger Sylar in court did._

_"I wish-"_

_His words were quickly cut short when the plane suddenly hit an air pocket, causing many of the other passengers who hadn't fastened their seatbelt to crash into the ceiling and slam back to the floor. The doors of the overhead compartments suddenly flew open sending luggage flying around the cabin. A metal suitcase came crashing down and banging Audrey on the head._

_Mohinder gasped as blood began to well on the side of the blond woman's head. Oxygen masks suddenly appeared before his eyes and Mohinder had to scramble as he reached across Sylar's sedated body to attach one of the masks onto the unconscious Marshall's face. Almost without thinking, Mohinder went ahead and did the same for Sylar before grabbing his own mask and taking deep breaths._

+-+-+-+

Mohinder felt his breath hitch as Sylar hovered over him, staring intensely at his exposed neck. "I... I'm the reason you're here," Mohinder gasped. "If it weren't for me, Hanson never would have caught you."

The Indian professor felt his muscles tighten as Sylar's dark eyes met his. He shifted uncomfortably underneath Sylar's bulk as the serial killer's dark grin disappeared from his face. "I know," the man whispered. "I always knew you'd be the one to catch me, but that doesn't matter now. We're stuck here. It's just you and me now."

"Audrey-"

"Marshal Hanson is going to die," Sylar told him bluntly. "That nurse won't be able to save her, and we're stuck on this island for God knows how long. This is my chance to get away. So I'll make you a deal; you keep quiet about me and I _won't_ slit your throat from ear to ear. Do we have a deal?"

"How do I know you won't kill someone anyway?"

"Because these people mean nothing to me. I'm not some random slasher. I kill for a reason, and right now, there's no reason. That is, of course, unless you want to be a hero? Do you want to be a hero, Mohinder?"

He hissed as Sylar pressed his blade into Mohinder's neck, splitting his skin. "I don't trust you."

Sylar smiled down at him, tightening his grip on the other man's shoulder. "Well, then you can just be my shadow. Feel free to follow me around and make sure that I'm a good boy."

Mohinder felt his whole body relax as Sylar finally removed the piece of metal from his throat and slid it back into his pocket. "I won't let you out of my sight," he gasped.

"I'll be looking forward to it."

-+-+-+-

Isaac smiled as Claire looked over her shoulder at him. It must have been the third time she'd done it since they'd started this trek into the jungle and, God help him, he loved the attention.

"Do I know you from somewhere?" Claire asked him as she turned to look at him one more time.

"I look familiar, don't I?" Isaac practically beamed as he brushed his wavy brown hair out of his eyes.

"Yeah," she shrugged. "Kinda."

"Well, I'm impressed," he smirked. "Not many kids your age are into art."

Claire came to a complete stop as she turned her wide eyes to take a good look at his face. It didn't take long before realization dawned on her. "You're Isaac Mendez?" He nodded and the girl all but gushed. "_The_ Isaac Mendez? Get out! My friend Zach was _obsessed _with you! He used to collect all of your paintings."

He flashed her his most bashful smile as he pretended to kick a rock out of his path. "Well that's great to hear. Hey, maybe when we get off the island I could send him an autographed picture."

"He'd _love_ that!"

"Guys?" Peter cut in suddenly, finally noticing that the two people he had taken on the quest with him had fallen several paces behind. "Do you mind picking up the pace?"

"Hey, Peter, are you an art lover?" Claire asked innocently as she quickened her steps to fall in back with the male nurse.

He shrugged sheepishly as he sent Isaac an apologetic look. "Not really," he mumbled. "But I'm sure your work is great."

-+-+-+-

It wasn't natural. The sun had been shining less than a second ago, and now all of a sudden the sky was as black as night. Thick storm clouds had gathered above them and began dumping rain down onto the island. It wasn't long before Claire found that her cloths were practically stuck to her body, and from the looks of things, Peter and Isaac weren't doing much better when it came to staying dry in the dense forest. She was thankful when the trio finally came across what had once been the front of the plane.

The cockpit had been flung deep into the jungle, tangle up in a mess of trees, and was currently resting in an awkward angle towards the sky. Climbing into that thing was going to be interesting to say the least.

They came in from the back of the plane, the easiest access point seeing how it was ripped wide open, and once they crawled inside the group was instantly greeted by several dead bodies still strapped into their seats. Claire felt her stomach lurch at the sight and quickly turned her head away.

If Peter felt something, he didn't show it. Instead, he just began to crawl towards the cockpit doors, using the chairs to support his weight. Claire followed his lead and from the sound of groans coming from behind her, Isaac was bringing up the rear. She felt herself slip several times and had to struggle to maintain balance. Her hands connected with the bare leg of one of the dead passengers, and Claire had to fight back against the strong urge to vomit.

It seemed like a blessing when the three of them finally made it to the cockpit door, each of them turning red from effort and taking greedy gulps of breath.

"You don't have to come in if you don't want to," Peter announced as he readied himself to open the door.

"You go, I go," Claire breathed.

"I'll... I'll stay back here," Isaac called, clinging to one of the seats for support. Claire couldn't really begrudge the man's reluctance. If things were grim out here, they wouldn't be much better in the cockpit.

Peter nodded before jerking the handle on the door several times. It was stuck. Claire reached to her side and handed the nurse a fire extinguisher to help pry it open. Peter took the extinguisher gratefully and began smashing it against the door. After smalling it against the handle several times, the door flew open and the dead body of the co-pilot came with it, flying past the three of them. The teenager felt her heart pounding like a drum inside of her, but when Peter reached down and offered her his hand, she took it anyway. She'd already promised to go in with him, she wasn't going to let herself look like a coward now. She wiggled and squirmed as Peter pulled her into the cockpit, a cramped space filled with broken glass, leaves, and a very dead pilot.

Claire cringed and turned her head away from the dead man still strapped into his seat. "W-what does the transceiver look like?" she gasp, trying her best to distract herself from her grim surroundings.

"Like a really complicated walkie-talkie," Peter explained as he carefully poked around the cockpit.

Claire nodded to herself, trying her best to get to her feet and stand in the slanted space. Unfortunately, for the teenager, she was knocked right back on her rear when the pilot suddenly jerked back to life.

Peter jumped, sliding across the wet surface in surprise as he scrambled to the injured man's side. He was a heavy set man with a balding head and wire thin glasses. His eye was swollen and most of his skin was starting to turn black and blue.

Once she had gotten back on her own two feet, Claire managed to climb over to rest on the arm of the co-pilot's chair. Leaning over towards the pilot, she was able to see that his name tag read "A. Malsky."

Malsky's whole body shook as he took in several deep breaths, cough and sputtering as he did so. "W-whuh...? Where?"

"Here, drink this," Peter instructed as he pulled out a bottle of water he had been carrying in his backpack. He poured the water slowly down the man's throat, making sure that he did not choke on the fluids. "We crashed on a tropical island."

"H-how... how many survived?"

"There are forty-eight of us," Peter told him. "Does anything feel broken?"

"No... but my head feels a little woozy."

"You probably have a concussion," Peter noted, studying the man's swollen face with a critical eye.

"How... how long as it been?"

"About sixteen hours."

"Six... sixteen?" Malsky stammered in surprise. "Has anybody come?"

Peter frowned, biting his lip in regret. "No."

Malsky sighed, processing the information slowly. "Six hours in... our radio went out. No-one could see us. We turned back to land in Fiji. By the time we hit turbulence, we we were a thousand miles off course. They're looking for us in the wrong place."

Peter and Claire fell silent as they began to take in the new information. The words "turned back" and "off course" kept swimming around in her head. How would anyone find them?

"Th-there's a transceiver," Malsky started, twisting around in his seat in an attempt to reach behind him. Placing a gentle hand on the wounded man's arm, Peter stopped his struggles and went ahead and dug around for the transceiver himself. Once he had found the device, Peter froze as if a thought suddenly popped into his head.

"Where's Isaac?"

Claire felt her eyes widen at the mention of the artist's name. Isaac had announced he wouldn't be joining them in the cabin, yet he hadn't made a sound the entire time they had been in there. Worry suddenly started to build up inside of the girl as images of the poor man losing his balance and falling to his death suddenly flashed through her mind. Without bothering to say a word, Claire scrambled out of the cockpit and back towards the door. Easing herself through the door frame, she peaked around the corner and was unable to find any trace of Isaac Mendez.

"Isaac?" she called out hesitantly. "Mr. Mendez?"

As soon as the man's surname escaped her lips, he suddenly re-emerged from the bathroom, flinging the door open with near violent force. Claire felt her heart jump into her throat at the man's sudden appearance. His eyes were wide and unfocused and for some reason Claire couldn't help, but think that he looked far too relaxed given their current situation.

"What were you doing in there?" she asked, gripping the walls for balance.

Isaac flashed her a lopsided smile as he eased himself out of the bathroom stall. "When ya gotta go..."

Claire frowned, deciding it was best not to think too hard about the situation as she climbed back into the cockpit, only to find that Peter and Malsky were having trouble getting the transceiver to work. Peter sighed, switching the device off. The teenager was about to ask what was wrong when suddenly, the strange noise that they had heard last night in the jungle filled the air. The four people all froze in fear as thunderous booms circled their location, rocking the already unsteady cabin.

"What was-" Malsky began, but Peter signaled him to keep quiet.

The noise soon disappeared and they were left in an uncomfortable silence. Malsky frowned, as he lifted himself out of his seat, peaking out the plane's broken windshield. Claire held her breath as the silence spread between them. The girl relaxed once Malsky backed away from the window, apparently having become satisfied that nothing was out there. Unfortunately, that's when the monster had decided to reach inside the cabin and drag the poor man through the windshield.

Claire screamed, screwing her eyes shut as the man was repeatedly slammed against the plane. She was barely able to process Peter's words as the man quickly grabbed her arms and began pushing her towards the door. They didn't make it, however, as the nose of the plane began to shake before crashing into the jungle. The three survivors fell face first to the floor, but wasted no time in scrambling back to their feet and running towards the door.

Once outside, Claire watched as Isaac shot like a dart into the woods zig-zagging wildly. She followed his lead, hoping that it could possibly help her escaped from the creature, but soon, she found herself running alone. Isaac and Peter had all but disappeared. With the combination of the heavy rain and the fear coursing through her body, Claire was practically blind in the now unfamiliar area. Before long, the girl found herself trapped in a field of bamboo shoots. Her whole body was trembling with fear as her wide eyes scanned the area.

"P-P-_Peter_!" she screeched. She repeated the name, over and over, until her voice felt sore from the effort. Tears began to well in her eyes. Peter... What if that thing had caught him? No. Peter couldn't be dead. He was too strong of a person to die like this.

Gathering up whatever courage was left inside of her being, Claire sprang forward in hopes of finding Peter, only to slam face first into another warm body. The two collided with an "oof," tumbling towards the soggy ground below. Claire grunted as she pulled herself back up and saw that she had run into Isaac.

"Isaac?" she gasped, noticing that the rain was finally starting to ease up. "Where's Peter?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "I just remember falling... Then he picked me up... Then he was just... gone."

The blond girl let out a long huff as she pushed her wet hair out of her face. "We have to find him," she stated, rolling off of Isaac and trying her best to stand on the slippery earth. Once she was back on her own two feet, she began wandering through the jungle, not bothering to check whether or not Isaac was behind her.

"You didn't call _my_ name," Isaac said from behind her. "In the woods? When we were running from that... Monster. You said 'Peter.'" He paused briefly, most likely waiting for some sort of apology from Claire, but the girl didn't feel like she needed to give him one. She had been frightened and Peter had been the one taking care of her since the crash, not Isaac. It was only natural that her mind went to the male nurse first. "I'm Isaac."

Claire sighed, shaking her head and ignoring the older man as she continued to wander through the jungle, calling out Peter's name. There was no response. Nothing except the soft dripping of water on leaves and the eerie bird songs. It didn't take long before the two of them reached a small clearing. Water had pooled beneath the trees, and Claire felt her breath catch in her throat when she noticed the odd reflection in the water. It looked like... No. It couldn't be.

Craning her neck skyward, Claire was horrified to see that there was a man's body, bloody and nearly ripped to shreds, tangled lifelessly between the tree branches.

"W-what is that?" Isaac gasped.

"That's the pilot."

Claire spun around and was relieved to see Peter, dripping wet and nearly out of breath, walking towards them. In spite of the bloody mess hanging over head, Claire felt a wave a relief wash over her. "You're alive," she breathed gratefully.

"Yeah," Peter smiled, as he pulled the transceiver out of his pocket. "I'm alive."

"And that's great," Isaac said slowly, his eyes never leaving the dead body hanging above them, "but does anybody know, what kind of creature does something like _that_?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Heroes or Lost.  
**Warnings:** AU, Violence, Action/Adventure, Drug use, Het, Slash, Crossover/Fusion

**Chapter 3**

Hiro sighed in exasperation as he dug through the seemingly endless pile of suitcases. Everyone had found their bags except him. Even now, he could barely remember what color his luggage had been, let alone what Ando's looked like.

He remember that Ando used a system of sorts to identify his belongings. He always tied a colored string to his bags, believing it would keep them from getting lost, only Hiro could not remember what color the string would be. Something obvious. Something that would stand out. Blue? No... Red?

The young man sighed as he looked around at the other survivors digging their way through the bags. It was frustrating. He couldn't ask for help. Everyone here spoke English except for Ando and himself. He suddenly wished that he hadn't volunteered to find their things, but when Ando announced he'd go fishing and catch their dinner, Hiro couldn't help but feel useless. He wanted to contribute, he wanted to help, but all he seemed to be doing lately was getting in the way.

A blond woman suddenly appeared next to him with a worried expression on her face. She was asking him something, something important, but the words only sounded like gibberish to his ears.

'Sorry,' the Asian man shrugged apologetically as he spoke in his native tongue, 'I don't speak English.'

The woman gave him a confused look before slowly nodding her head and moving on. A light blush spread across the young man's features as he watched her go. He had a feeling she needed help, and he wanted so badly to be a hero and go with her anyway, but that wasn't what Ando wanted him to do. Ando just wanted him to stay safe and find their bags.

His eyes slowly wandered across the beach before landing on a older man was scruffy blond hair and a thick beard. From the look on his face, he was waiting for something, and Hiro suddenly had a feeling that if he didn't find their bags soon, the scruffy man would take them.

With that thought in mind, Hiro doubled his efforts.

-+-+-+-

Simone smiled when she spotted Isaac and the others emerge from the tree line, but her smile quickly faded when she took in the group's shaken appearance They had all suspected that the jungle was dangerous, but the trio looked as if they had just done a tour of duty in Vietnam.

"Hey! Are you guys alright?" Simone asked as she rushed towards the group. Apparently her words caught the attention of many of the other survivors as she soon found herself part of a large crowd circling Peter, Isaac, and Claire.

"Great," Isaac mutter sarcastically as he slumped away from the crowd. He looked pale and shaken, and Simone made a note to herself to try to ask him what the heck had happened later.

"We found the transceiver," Peter announced, waving the heavy black communication device in the air, "but it's busted. Would anyone here know how to fix it?"

"I can take a look at it." Simone turned to see an Indian man approach Peter from within the crowd. He gently took the transceiver from the nurse's grasp and began turning it over in his hands. "From the looks of it, the radio is dead, but the battery is still good. I might be able to fix it."

Peter nodded, patting the other man on his shoulder before heading back to the medical tent. The crowd quickly dispersed soon after, but Simone found herself following Peter instead of Isaac. Something told her that the young nurse had the answers she wanted.

"Peter?" she began quietly, causing him to freeze in his tracks. "Did you guys... were there any survivors?"

The young man froze, paling slightly at her question. "No," he said quietly. "There weren't any survivors."

-+-+-+-

Sylar smiled as he studied Mohinder's determined form. He had been surprised when Mohinder had volunteered to fix the transceiver. The man was a genetics professor after all. As far as Sylar knew, that field of study didn't exactly require him to be technologically savvy. Yet here he was, hard at work on repairing the nurse's walkie-talkie. There wasn't any doubt in his mind that Mohinder had some half-assed scheme forming in his head, and Sylar was going to find out just what it was.

"So now you're a repairman, Professor?" he asked teasingly as he approached the other man.

Mohinder only looked up for a brief second before turning back to the task at hand, and Sylar felt a ball of anger build up inside of him. He hated being ignored.

"There is much you don't know about me," the professor muttered as he continued to test the radio.

Sylar scowled as he looked over the makeshift worktable Mohinder had quickly assembled out of pieces of the wreckage and a ripped blanket. Mohinder had already cracked open the back of the transceiver and was now intensely studying the multicolored wires. Sylar couldn't tell what exactly the man was up to, but he had a feeling it wasn't nearly as difficult as repairing a watch.

"Well, I've got nothing but time to find out," he smirked, sitting down beside his traveling companion.

The Indian man turned and glared at him, momentarily drawn away from his work and Sylar felt a bit accomplished that he had managed to distract such a determined individual. "Not if I get this transceiver working," Mohinder snapped. "I may have promised to keep quiet about your past, but as far as I'm concerned, our deal ends the second we set foot off of this island. Mark my words, Sylar, one way or another, I _will _see you in jail."

"So cocky," Sylar scoffed, rolling his eyes at the other man's attempt at a threat. "Even if you do manage to get that thing to work, what makes you think anyone will pick up the signal?"

Mohinder frowned, turning back to his work. "Because I have faith," he snapped before falling silent once again.

Sylar smirked as he continued to watch the other man work. Mohinder may have "faith", but Sylar knew for sure that neither one of them was going anywhere.

-+-+-+-

"Micah, how many times have I told you to stay at the beach?"

The ten year old rolled his eyes at his mother's overly dramatic display of parental concern. "I was just having a look around," he shrugged kicking at a few twigs. "Besides, I wasn't that far away from the beach."

"That's not the point!" she argued. "We don't know what's out there, Micah. You saw that thing last night-"

"No body saw anything," Micah pointed out. "Besides, it hasn't come anywhere near the beach."

His mother frowned at him, a mixture of irritation and concern flashing in her bright eyes. "That doesn't mean that it won't," she chided. She was about to continue, when her eyes suddenly caught the metal object he had been clutching secretively in his hands. "What is that?"

Micah sighed as he held out his hand. "They're handcuffs," he told her. "I found them in the jungle."

His mother's face turned several shades whiter as she carefully took the cuffs from his hands. It was then that Micah suddenly had the feeling he had just set off a terrible chain of events.

-+-+-+-

'I did it!' Hiro cheered as he dragged the two large suitcases across the sandy beach. 'I found our bags!'

Ando blinked, shading his eyes from the bright sun as he looked up at his friend. It had taken Hiro nearly two hours of digging, but he had finally managed to spot Ando's black suitcase with the blue ribbon tied to it. Soon after spotting the familiar bag, Hiro had remembered that his duffel bag had been dark blue with black trimming.

'Good,' Ando said approvingly. 'Now I can finally put on some sunblock. My skin is burning up.'

Hiro was practically beaming as he placed their bags down beside his friend. His cheery mood was quickly crushed when Hiro finally noticed that what Ando was doing. His friend was currently sitting on the beach, pants rolled up and sleeves folded up to his elbows, gutting and scaling two fish.

'That's all you caught?' Hiro asked, worry and confusion clear in his tone.

Ando shook his head as he turned to give his friend that too familiar "look" once more. 'How many fish do you need?'

'I just... When you said you were going to catch some fish, I thought you meant-'

'Hiro,' his friend cut in, his tone weary as his patience began to wear thin. 'I already told you, we have to take care of each other. The others can handle themselves. _We're_ the only ones that you need to worry about!'

'But, Ando-kun, you can help them. You're a good fisherman, you could get fish for the others. If we help them, then they can help us.'

'Those people? You want help from _those people_!' Ando frowned. 'The others are fools. Just this morning, the nurse took two people into the jungle -- _the jungle!_ -- then, during the rain, the same noise we all heard last night came from the woods. They all could have been killed! The only person on the island with medical knowledge went into the jungle and risked his life. Worse yet, he brought a teenage girl with him! Do you really want to associate with those people?'

Hiro pouted, bowing his head sheepishly as he sat down beside his friend. He couldn't understand why Ando didn't want to help the other survivors. They were all in this situation together. They should be coming together, not drifting apart.

'But, if we keep to ourselves, the other will forget about us,' he argued. 'What if rescue comes and they leave us behind?'

'That won't happen,' Ando insisted. 'When rescue comes, _we'll_ be the first ones there. I promise, I'm going to take care of you.'

Hiro sighed as he turned his gaze towards the clear ocean. Maybe he could convince Ando to teach him to fish. Ando had always been an expert in that area. When they were children, they would always go fishing with Ando's parents and he'd always end up with a ton of fish, while Hiro either broke his rod or got bored and read Manga instead. Things were different now. This wasn't some vacation, it was a life or death situation. Ando may not understand that _this_ was the time to stand up and be a hero, but Hiro did. He would find a way to help the others, with or without Ando's approval.

-+-+-+-

Claire sighed running her fingers through her still wet hair. Ever since she had gotten back from the jungle she just couldn't seem to sit still. The young woman wasn't sure if it was the adrenaline rush that came from having two near death experiences in less than twenty four hours or something else. Something had changed in her back there. After her experience with the Monster in the jungle, Claire no longer felt content to just sit around and wait for rescue. Even helping Peter care for the injured woman in his tent seemed like too passive of a task for her. She needed something to do. She needed to take charge of their situation and bring help to them.

It was with this thought in her head that the girl went looking for Suresh in hopes of helping him fix the transceiver.

She smiled warmly as she approached the man's makeshift workbench. He was currently pacing back and forth in the sand as Gabriel sat a foot away, trying his best to stay out of the intense heat.

"Any luck?" she asked.

She was pleased when Mohinder looked up at her with a hopeful expression on his dark features. "It appears to be working," he began, but Claire could already tell that this bit of good news would be quickly followed by something disheartening. "But it's not picking up a signal. Without a signal, I can't broadcast a rescue message."

Claire frowned thoughtfully at the Indian man's words. "Is there anything we can do?"

Mohinder sighed, turning a tired eye towards the jungle. "Yes," he sighed wearily. "It is possible that the mountains are blocking the transceiver. If I go for higher ground, I might be able to acquire a proper signal."

Gabriel's head suddenly snapped up at the other man's words, a look of concern flashing across his features before quickly being smoothed away into mild surprise. "iYou're/i going into the jungle?"

The man flinched at his companion's tone, but made no move to look towards him. "I've no other choice."

Gabriel frowned as he climbed to his feet. "Then I'm going with you," he announced, and from the look on Mohinder's face that was the last thing he had wanted to hear.

"Great," Claire cut in, hoping to cut off any inevitable fight that may break out between the two men. "I guess the three of us are going together. I'll just go grab my bag and some water."

-+-+-+-

"What is your problem?" Simone snapped as she trailed Isaac across the beach. "You've been moody ever since you got back from the cockpit."

"It's complicated," the artist grumbled, weaving his way through several people. He didn't need this. He had narrowly escaped being trampled (or eaten) by some mysterious being, and right now, he felt he deserved a little time alone. Yet Simone suddenly felt it was the time to talk. Talk! After the way she acted...

"Then tell me about it," she urged, concern and frustration mingling in her voice. "I want to know what happened."

Isaac felt his eyebrow practically tick at her words. He halted suddenly in his tracks, causing the startled woman to stumble and nearly fall as he spun around to face her. "Then why don't you ask Peter?" he snapped.

Simone's eyes widened in confusion as he glared down at her. "Peter?" she asked slowly. "What does he-"

"You went to talk to him instead of me," he practically growled. "I almost died out there, but you didn't ask me how I was. You went to him instead!"

"I wanted to know if there were any survivors in the front of the plane!" she shot back, anger etched across her features.

"And I wouldn't know that?" he spat. "Did you think I went all the way into the jungle just to wait outside while a nurse and some kid dug around for dead bodies?"

Simone glared dangerously at him as she slowly crossed her arms over her chest. His words didn't seem to be having any effect on her. "Why did you go with them, Isaac?"

The artist's anger only increased at his girlfriend's accusing words. He really didn't need this. Not from _her_. "Just leave me alone!" he huffed as he stormed away into the shore line, clutching a small bag of brown powder as he went.

+-+-+-+

_Isaac grimaced as sweat continued to pour down his face. They had been in the air for more than eight hours now, and he wasn't sure that he could take it any longer. His stomach was twisting itself into tight knots, his head was pounding, and the cabin was just too damn hot. The artist moaned in discomfort as he shifted in his seat._

_"Are you alright babe?" Simone whispered, placing a tender hand on his arm. Usually her touch was soothing, but right now it was practically burning his skin._

_"Yeah," he grimaced, curling into a tight ball. "Great."_

_Even as he squeezed his eyes shut he could tell that Simone's worried gaze was still on him. The woman continued to caress his arm and whisper soothing words to him, promising him that they'd get through this together, that they should be landing soon, but they had no effect on Isaac. He knew that there was only one thing that could make him feel better._

_Unable to take the discomfort any longer, Isaac jumped out of his seat, sliding past Simone and into the isle. He barely even registered as he bumped into the young man sitting across from them, or the Asian man, who grunted and snapped at him angrily as he passed. His mind was only focused on one thing: getting to the bathroom._

_Isaac breathed a sigh of relief once he was safely inside the toilet stalls, closing the door behind him with a bit too much force. He couldn't really bring himself to care. His mind was fixed on the task at hand as he fumbled to take his shoe off in the cramped space. The artist instantly started to feel better when he took off his footwear. He reached inside and pulled out the small bag of heroine he had hid from airport security. The bag was all, but ripped open as his trembling fingers reached inside and scooped out some of the powder, rubbing it on his teeth and gums._

_He sighed contently as the drugs effects slowly started to take over him. His mind felt as if it were wrapped in a pleasant numbness as his whole body began to hum and tingle with pleasure. A sloppy smile spread across the artist's face as he leaned forward and gazed at himself in the mirror..._

_Yet all he could see was Simone._

_Simone's sad eyes._

_Simone's kind smile._

_Simone holding his arm and whispering that everything would be alright._

_Tears began to well up in his eyes as his thoughts circled around the beautiful woman waiting for him back in coach. She deserved better than a junkie for a boyfriend. She deserved a real man who could take care of her. His fingers trembled as he grasped the bag of heroine in his hands and placed it in the toilet. He was just about to reach over and flush the substance away, when the plane was suddenly hit by violent bout of turbulence._

+-+-+-+

Isaac sighed as he slumped back against the tree, waiting for the heroine to take effect. It wasn't long before the familiar numbness and tingles greeted him as the world began to spin and blur before his eyes. A sloppy grin suddenly spread across his features as he began to wander across the beach aimlessly. It wasn't long before he found himself in the middle of a heated argument. Yet given the group of people who had landed on this island, it wasn't exactly surprising.

"Claire, I really don't think this is a good idea," an accented voice began, and it took Isaac a few seconds to realize that it was the guy who had volunteered to fix the transceiver. "Gabriel and I can go into the jungle ourselves. You've had enough excitement for one day."

"You're joking, right?" Claire snapped, the definite teenage persona finally showing itself. "I may be young, but I just survived a freakin' plane crash!"

"But we don't know what's out there," the man warned.

"Hey! If I'm old enough to go into the jungle to find the radio, then I should be old enough to go into the jungle and make sure it works!" Claire suddenly stopped mid-rant and turned to face him. Isaac felt his insides tighten as she starred at him with her angry green eyes. "What about you, Isaac? You're going to go, aren't you?"

"Uh... me?"

"Yeah! We found the transceiver! Don't you think we should be able to go use it?"

In spite of everything he knew, in spite of the fact that he had _just_ escaped being eaten by the Monster, Isaac actually found himself nodding in consent to Claire's statement. It seems like things just couldn't stay peaceful on this island.

-+-+-+-

"Excuse me? Peter?"

Peter looked up and smiled when he saw the blond woman approach his tent. His mind had been in a fog all day. This morning he, Claire, and Isaac had barely escaped being ripped to shreds, Audrey's condition was only getting worse, and just a few minutes ago, Claire had announced that she was, once again, going on another trek through the jungle. This wasn't exactly a good day for him (although he couldn't imagine anyone here having a good day), but he still knew that he had to force himself to be polite to anyone who came his way. Things were terrible enough already, having a bad attitude wouldn't exactly help anyone.

"Hi..." he searched his mind for the woman's name, but as far as he could remember, the two of them had not been introduced yet.

"Niki," she supplied helpfully, brushing a strand of long blond hair out of her face. "C-can I talk to you for a second?"

"Sure," he shrugged, pulling his mind away from the injured woman's condition. "What's up?"

"My son, Micah, was in the jungle today," she began slowly.

"Yeah, the little boy," Peter nodded. "How is he?"

"He's good... or at least as good as you'd expect. But... uh, he found something in the jungle..." The woman's words trailed off as she handed the nurse a pair of handcuffs.

Peter felt his eyes widen as Niki placed the cuffs in his hands. They looked as if they were new, meaning that whoever had been wearing them had been on the plane, and from the blood circling the inside of the cuffs, that person had struggled to get them off. The young nurse felt his insides grow cold as the pieces quickly fell into place. He had seen Audrey's gun and badge when he had pulled her out of the wreckage, but he hadn't known she'd been escorting a criminal.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Heroes or Lost.  
**Warnings:** AU, Violence, Action/Adventure, Drug use, Het, Slash, Crossover/Fusion

**Chapter 4**

Micah frowned as he wandered across the beach studying the other castaways dully as he went. His mother had told him to stay on the beach, but she had never set any limits as to where he could go. When she disappeared to speak with the nurse in private, most likely discussing the handcuffs that he had found in the jungle, the boy had taken the opportunity to continue exploring what had become his temporary home.

From what the child could see, most of the survivors were currently busy keeping to themselves. He and his mother had watched as a quartet went off into the jungle earlier. The two Japanese men had disappeared along the beach earlier that afternoon and had not been seen in hours. The police man was still helping others to sort through the wreckage. Everyone seemed to have something to do.

He stopped in his tracks when he spotted a man with dirty blond hair and horn-rimmed glasses sitting near the shoreline. He wore a navy blue business suit, which had probably looked very clean and impressive before the crash, and a pair of black socks. The child thought it was a bit strange that he wasn't wearing any shoes, but he brushed it off. A lot of things had been lost in the crash. Micah's eyes were suddenly drawn to the small game board that the man had been assembling.

"What are you playing?" he asked as he approached the stranger. "Checkers?"

The man in the horn-rimmed glasses smiled as he turned towards the boy. "No," he said slowly. "It's a much better game than checkers. It's called backgammon."

Micah smiled. He hadn't played backgammon in years, but considering his options, it sounded like a worthwhile activity. "Can I play?"

"Sure," the man smiled, motioning for the boy to sit across from him. Micah did as he was instructed, crossing his legs as he scooted closer to the game board. "Did you ever play backgammon with your mother?"

The boy stiffened in response. "We sort of just met," he explained. "I used to live in Australia with my Dad."

"You don't have an accent," he observed as he placed the two dice on the board.

"We moved a lot... He died a few weeks ago."

The man nodded sympathetically. "You're having a rough month." Micah laughed awkwardly, but in truth the whole situation was still hard for him to think about. "What's your name?"

"Micah," the child responded automatically, although he instantly regretted it. He had a feeling that his mother wouldn't have approved of him giving his name out to someone he'd never met.

"Micah, do you want to know a secret?"

-+-+-+-

"So it looks like my boyfriend has once again journeyed into the heart of darkness."

Peter jumped when he heard Simone approach from behind him. He quickly pushed the handcuffs Niki had given him out of sight. Despite the fact that Peter had assured Niki that everything would be fine and discouraged her from telling anyone else about the cuffs, the young man was still troubled by the situation. There was a fugitive running free among them and it seemed as if he was going to have to be the one to find him... or her. Yet his first priority was still Audrey.

"So Isaac went with Claire and the others?" Peter asked, trying his best to sound casual.

"Yeah," Simone said, as she crouched down beside him. "Yeah, it's strange. Isaac isn't a coward, but if you had told me a week ago that he'd be putting himself in a life or death situation _twice_ in one day, I'd call you crazy."

Peter smiled politely at the woman's words. "Well, maybe you're not giving him enough credit," he offered. "He handled himself well enough in the jungle before."

"I guess so," Simone shrugged. It was clear from the troubled expression she still wore that she wasn't convinced just yet. "At least he's being helpful. What about Claire?"

Peter frowned, not getting what the woman was trying to ask him. "What about Claire?" he repeated.

She laughed awkwardly, brushing a few strands of hair out of her eyes. "Well, you two have become sort of tight since the crash," she tried to explain. "I guess I'm just sort of surprised that you let her go into the jungle so soon after coming back."

The nurse chuckled, shaking his head thoughtfully at Simone's statement. He had thought about stopping Claire, trying to convince her to stay put and help him with Audrey, but he knew he couldn't. There was just something about the teenager that reminded him of his older brother. She was so head strong and self assured, he knew he couldn't talk Claire out of doing anything.

"Claire's her own person," he explained. "I'm... We're not exactly related, so I can't really put myself in charge of her. It'd be too-"

"Weird?" Simone offered.

"I was gonna say 'inappropriate,'" he chuckled, "but yeah, 'weird' works."

The two laughed naturally at the small joke, and Peter suddenly felt his insides tighten. He hoped Simone didn't think he was flirting with her. In fact, he wasn't even sure himself whether or not this could be viewed as flirting. He had never imagined himself to be the sort of guy to try to steal another man's girl, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't want Simone. Then there was Isaac. After going into the jungle with him, Peter realized that he was a decent guy. He didn't deserve to have some stranger hit on his girlfriend while he was out trying to get them all rescued.

"Is there anything I can do to help her?" Simone asked, bringing his mind back to the situation at hand.

"I suppose so." The nurse blushed as Simone sat down beside him, her bare leg brushing against his thigh as she did so.

-+-+-+-

"Wow. Your wrists are really red."

Mohinder cringed when he heard Claire's innocent statement. He had been dreading this moment ever since he had noticed Sylar's wrists. The injury had obviously been caused by Sylar's attempt to escape from his handcuffs before joining the rest of the castaways, and would be nearly impossible to brush off as a result of the plane crash. He had told the other man to wear long sleeves or shred cloths to cover the scrapes, but Sylar had shrugged off his advice. Mohinder had a feeling the man secretly wanted to draw attention to himself.

"Yeah, I think I was in a plane crash yesterday," Sylar mused sarcastically, "but I'm not sure."

The Indian man glanced behind him to see Claire glaring daggers into Sylar's back as the man smirked secretively to himself.

"I'm just saying, you should probably have Peter take a look at them. They could probably get infected."

"Sure, why not?" Sylar grumbled as he quickened his pace so that he and Mohinder were now walking side by side. "What do you think? This seems like a good place to test the radio."

Mohinder frowned, shaking his head wearily. They had been hiking for hours, had climbed a few sloops of terrain, but the large mountain looming overhead and the thick circle of trees surrounding them was a clear indication that checking the transceiver would prove fruitless at best. "No," he sighed. "Not yet."

"Come on, Mohinder," the other man urged. "We've been out here all day. This must be high enough."

"The mountains are still blocking us," he snapped, annoyed that Sylar would even think to question him in this situation. "And the battery is weak. It's not a good time."

"I'm not asking you to leave it on all day, I'm asking you to just _check_!"

The Indian man felt his eyes narrow as he spun around to face the irritating man beside him. "If I _'just check'_-"

His words were cut short when the group heard a vicious roar come from behind them. Mohinder felt his heart stop dead in his chest when his eyes caught sight of a massive white figure darting through the jungle. Without a second thought, the man found himself running through the jungle with Claire and Isaac right on his heels. His heart hammered in his chest as his legs carried him over the rocky terrain and long blades of grass.

The Indian man barely had time to register how far he had gone or how fast he had been running when it suddenly occurred to him that Sylar was nowhere to be seen. If he had more time, Mohinder probably would have weighed his options before acting. He probably would have justified in his mind that Sylar dying out here in the jungle after being attacked by some wild animal would be a well fitting end to the serial killer's life as well as a good excuse to get him out of his hair and away from the other survivors, but he didn't. The only thought occupying his mind was the thought of seeing Sylar spend the rest of his life behind bars and not taking the easy way out by dying pretending to be a hero.

He was about to turn back when he suddenly heard a round of gunfire erupt from a few feet away followed by the sound of something very large crashing to the ground. Mohinder came to a full stop as his addled mind registered what he had just heard.

"What was that?" Claire shouted as she came to a halt beside him.

Mohinder felt himself grow cold as he glanced over to see that Isaac had gone several shades whiter. Sylar had a gun. It must have been Audrey's gun. He didn't know why he hadn't thought of the possibility that the man would have swiped it while they were in Peter's tent. His stomach tightened with guilt. They were all going to die. Even if Sylar preferred to use knives, he was still more than capable with a gun and they were all far enough away from the beach that no one would hear them scream, let alone the sound of a gun being fired.

Reluctantly he followed his other companions back towards Sylar. He probably should have warned them. He probably should have made more of an effort to stop Isaac and Claire from joining him on this trek, but he hadn't. He had doomed them all and he was going to have to face the consequences of his actions.

"It's a bear!"

The geneticist felt his eyes widen at Claire surprised yelp. Her words had pulled his troubled mind out of their musings and distracted him just long enough to take a careful look at the creature now lying dead at Sylar's feet. His mouth went dry and his heart skipped a beat at the strange sight.

"That's not just a bear," he gasped. "It's a polar bear."

-+-+-+-

Peter felt his whole body go ridge in shock when he saw Audrey's eyes fly open for the first time. He and Simone had just finished removing the shrapnel from the marshal's chest and mended the wound as best as they could. He knew that it would take a lot more than that for Audrey to recover, but he was still praying that Mohinder would be able to send out a rescue signal with the now fixed transceiver.

Yet he hadn't expected her to regain consciousness so soon. Peter scrambled over to the injured woman's side as she took in deep, raspy breaths and studied her surroundings with fear. He was suddenly glad Simone had left. He had a feeling the woman would be more than a bit uncomfortable staring a dying woman in the eye. As a nurse, he was used to such things.

"Where...? Where...?"

"It's okay," Peter soothed. "You're safe."

A small cry of surprise escaped his lips when Audrey's pale hands grabbed at his collar with more force than he would have expected and pulled him down so that they were nearly nose to nose. Her breath was bitter and stank of blood and bile. It took everything in him not to gag as she rasped and wheezed against his face.

"Where is he?" she whispered, struggling to sit up. "Where is he?"

"Who?" he gasped.

"S... Sy-Sylar."

-+-+-+-

"What's a _polar bear_ doing in the middle of the jungle?" Isaac gaped, repeatedly running his fingers through his hair as if in a nervous twitch. Although, Claire couldn't really blame him for being so frazzled. As far as she knew, polar bears were only supposed to live in the arctic. So why was there a polar bear in the middle of a tropical island?

"Who cares?" Gabriel shrugged. "It's dead now. It won't bother us anymore."

Claire felt her eyes widen as she watched Gabriel tuck his gun back into his pants. "Why do you have a gun?"

"How'd you get a gun on the plane?"

Gabriel scowled at the two of them. From the bitter look on his face, he seemed to think that this was the dumbest thing they could ask. A part of Claire agreed with him. After all, they now had monsters and polar bears to look out for. One man with a gun (and probably a limited supply of ammo) shouldn't be at the top of their list of worries.

"It's not _my_ gun," he explained. "I took it off of the marshal."

"Marshal?"

"What marshal?"

"The blond woman with the shrapnel in her chest."

"How do you even know that she was a marshal?"

"Because she had a badge with the words 'U.S. Marshal' on it!"

"Give me the gun."

Everyone suddenly grew silent as the three turned to stare at Mohinder. The man's expression was nearly unreadable and something inside of Claire suddenly went cold. She didn't know which was more chilling, the fact that Gabriel had a gun or that Mohinder didn't really seem that disturbed or surprised by the revelation.

"Why?"

"Because," Mohinder began, but his words quickly died on his tongue. He looked hesitant, almost ashamed, as if it were his fault that Gabriel was carrying a weapon. "It's dangerous."

"Dangerous?" Gabriel snapped. "I just shot a polar bear! I stopped it from killing you, and you're calling _me_ 'dangerous?'"

Before either man could continue their argument, Claire quickly stepped behind Gabriel and pulled the gun from the back of his pants. The pale man quickly spun around and made a move to grab her, but fortunately Claire was a bit faster than him and was aiming the barrel of the pistol at his head before he could actually touch her. Mohinder and Isaac stared at her, wide eyed with surprise, as Gabriel tensed, ready for her to pull the trigger.

"D-does anyone know how to use a gun?" she asked hesitantly.

"I think you just pull the trigger," Isaac joked darkly, clearly indifferent to whether or not Gabriel lived or died.

"I don't want to fire it," she clarified. Just the idea of taking another person's life made her feel sick inside. "I want to take it apart."

Mohinder's body seemed to go slack at Claire's statement, relieved that no one would be firing the rifle again any time soon. The Indian man slowly guided her through the process of taking the gun apart. It was clear from his halting speech that he only knew how to take apart a gun from someone else's instruction, not from personal experience. It didn't take long before the weapon was in pieces in her hands. The girl bit down on her lip as she handed what was left of the firearm over to Mohinder, not trusting herself with the weapon. She didn't want that kind of responsibility anyway.

-+-+-+-+-

The trek had continued in almost complete silence since the incident. Mohinder suspected that everyone was still too shaken up by the combination of appearance of the polar bear and the news of a US Marshal on the plane. If it weren't for the fact that Mohinder knew well enough who the prisoner was, he would have been more troubled by the polar bear. He had asked Claire and Isaac, and they had both assured him that whatever had killed the pilot was much, much bigger than a mere bear.

Yet even that piece of news wasn't enough to completely dominate the man's attention. Sylar had told him just that morning that he didn't want anyone to know about him, yet he wasn't even trying to keep a low profile. Carrying a gun, flashing his injured wrists, and telling everyone that a US Marshal had been riding on the plane _armed_ was a sure way to get them both caught in their lie. Mohinder could only hope that Claire and Isaac didn't know that marshals could only carry a firearm onto a plane if they were escorting a prisoner, although given his sudden run of bad luck, he doubted it.

"You owe me an apology," Sylar grumbled.

Mohinder frowned as he turned towards the murderer who was now walking right next to him, far too close for his own comfort. "What are you talking about?" he whispered, not bothering to hide the confusion in his tone.

"I saved your life," he hissed, "and you humiliated me."

Mohinder laughed bitterly at the fugitive, shaking his head in disbelief. "I'd ask if you were crazy, but I know that'd be a waste of breath!"

"I _saved_ you from a bear!"

"You saved _yourself_!" he snapped. "Don't mistake self-preservation for an honorable act." The geneticist could feel Sylar's heated gaze piercing through him, ready to continue their argument, but he wouldn't let him. He didn't want Claire and Isaac to hear them squabbling, especially if one of them accidentally let their secret slip. "We should check the transceiver."

"So _now's_ a good time?" Sylar snapped, his voice now a normal level.

Mohinder sighed wearily as he came to a stop in the elevated clearing. "We're up higher now," he explained. He pulled the transceiver out of his pocket, ignoring Sylar's irritated grumbling. Flicking on the radio, his eyes practically doubled in size when he saw a black bar appear on the small screen. "A bar," he gasped. "We've got a bar!"

His heartbeat quickened as the other three survivors gathered around him.

"Mayday! Mayday!" he cried into the radio. "Can anybody hear me?"

The man held his breath and waited for a response only to hear feed back from another message respond to his cry for help.

"What is that?" Claire asked, pressing closer to him to try to get a better look at the radio.

"It's feed back," he explained.

"What does that mean?" Isaac asked.

"It means that we cannot broadcast a signal, because there's another one already being transmitted. From near by."

"Another signal?" Claire gasped, excitement clear in her tone. "You mean there's somebody else on the island?"

"Maybe they can help us!" Isaac said, his tone hopeful for the first time since they had landed on the island.

Fiddling with the transceiver, it didn't take long for Mohinder to pick up the transmission. A feminine voice suddenly began to play on the radio, causing the other survivors to cheer happily.

"It's playing in Spanish," Sylar mused, not at all impressed by the new discovery, although Mohinder wasn't at all surprised. If they were rescued, Sylar would have to go to jail. There really wasn't much for him to get excited about.

Mohinder was about to comment when a strange robotic voice suddenly cut off the Spanish woman's message. The geneticist flinched as the words "iteration" was suddenly uttered by the voice, followed by a series of numbers.

"Iteration?" Claire repeated. "What does that mean?"

"It's repeating," Isaac suddenly blurted out. His tone and appearance had quickly shifted from hopeful to frightened.

"How do you know?" Sylar asked.

"I speak Spanish."

"He's right," Mohinder interjected thoughtfully. "Iteration. It's... It's counting."

"Counting what?"

"The number of times the message has been playing. It's roughly thirty seconds long so... Oh no!" Mohinder gasped once he heard a high pitched beep interrupt the message followed by a small red light flashing in the corner of the screen. "The battery!"

"What?"

"The battery is dying!"

"Isaac, what's the message saying?" Claire asked urgently, turning her wide, frightened eyes to the other man.

Isaac stiffened, taken off guard by Claire's forwardness. Obviously the man hadn't expected to be put on the spot like this when he'd agreed to go on this journey. "I... I dunno."

"What?" Sylar snapped, glaring at the nervous artist. "You said you spoke Spanish!"

"Yeah! With my family, but... it's been a while!"

The high pitch beep sounded again, as the message started over. "We don't have much longer now," Mohinder reminded them.

"Please Isaac," Claire pleaded, her expression softening as she trembled with nervous fear.

Isaac gulped, swallowing his nerves as he listened to the frightened woman on the transceiver "She's... she's saying," he stuttered. "'Please... Please help me.'"

"Are you sure?" Sylar snapped. "A second ago you said you couldn't understand her."

"Shut up and let him listen!" Claire barked.

"Here," Mohinder said as he quickly handed the radio over to Isaac's trembling hands. The message was about to start again and the group fell silent as the painter listened carefully to the recording.

"She's saying 'I'm alone now,'" he translated. "'It killed them. It killed them all. They're dead... Please... Please come. Please help me.'"

The robotic voice began to play, but was soon cut off when the batteries finally gave out.

"Eight years," Mohinder breathed, having finally processed the numbers in his head.

"What?" Sylar whispered. The faint hint of fear in the man's voice made Mohinder's insides turn to ice.

"The count," he explained. "If the count is right, that message has been playing for approximately eight years... and five months."

An eerie silence spread over the small group as each one of them began to process this new piece of information at their own pace.

"Someone was here before us?" Claire muttered, her young face twisted with confusion.

"Eight years before us," Isaac emphasized "Maybe they were rescued."

"If they were rescued then why is the message still playing?" Sylar asked pointedly.

Eight years and five months. The words kept swimming around in Mohinder's head. He tried checking his math again and again, but each time he got the exact same answer. If that woman's message had never been picked up, what chance did they have at rescue?

"Guys," Isaac whispered suddenly, breaking the tension growing between the quartet. "Where are we?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Heroes or Lost.  
**Warnings:** AU, Violence, Action/Adventure, Drug use, Het, Slash, Crossover/Fusion

**Chapter 5**

Peter bit down on his lower lip as he studied Audrey's injury. He wasn't a surgical nurse and he hadn't really even been in the medical field for very long, so he wasn't exactly confident in his handy work. The stitching looked fine to his eye, but he had a feeling that a real doctor wouldn't be ready to hand out their approval. Worse yet, Audrey's body wasn't responding to the antibiotics that he and Simone had given her. The drugs were weak to say the least, they had been prescribed for ear aches and foot fungus after all, and if he couldn't find anything stronger, the marshal was going to have to suffer through a long and painful death.

"Don't... don't trust him," she rasped urgently. A part of him wanted to think that it was merely the pain making her delusional or, better yet, that the man she was talking about, this "Sylar", had died in the crash. "No matter... no matter what he says... no matter h-how he makes you feel..."

"I don't know anyone named Sylar," he assured her as he tenderly poked and prodded her injury. "He could have died in the crash."

"Suresh," she wheezed, causing Peter's hands to still. "Is... is Suresh alive?"

Peter's heart was practically hammering in his chest as he listened to the blond woman moan and wheeze pathetically. "Y-yeah," he told her. "Suresh is alive."

"L-look out for him," she whispered. "Look out... for Suresh."

The nurse listened carefully, hoping that the woman would say more, but he was left with silence as the marshal slipped back into unconsciousness. His mind was whirling with this new information. Suresh. Audrey had warned him about Suresh. Mohinder was the prisoner and now he was alone in the jungle with Claire.

-+-+-+-

Night began to fall all too quickly for the signal party as they headed back towards the beach. After much debate amongst them, the quartet had decided it would be best to make camp for the night. Isaac and Claire had gathered firewood while Mohinder had continued to study the now drained transceiver. Sylar couldn't help, but watch the other man's disheartened expression carefully, even as he helped build a fire with the others.

He knew what the Indian man was thinking just by looking at him. He knew that he was placing all the blame on himself. He knew that Mohinder was probably berating himself for getting their hopes up, for bringing a school girl into the jungle, for endangering everyone's lives by protecting a wanted criminal. He knew all this because that was just the kind of person Mohinder was. Mohinder was the type to put the weight of the whole world on his shoulders, the type to place all blame, whether it was justified or not, on himself, and the type to kill himself trying to set things right.

"What are we supposed to tell them?" Claire muttered as she gazed into the fire. Sylar frowned as he looked over the blond teenager. He long blond hair was framing her round, pouting face as she sat hugging her knees to her chest. In the glow of the firelight she looked so young and tragic. The very definition of a victim.

"About what?" Isaac blurted out thoughtlessly. "The polar bear in the jungle? The crazy Spanish lady saying 'they're dead, they're dead'? Or the fact that the transceiver is now broken again?"

"Isaac," Mohinder chided gently even as he held the radio limply in his hands.

"They have a right to know," Claire argued. "They have a right to know about all of that."

"You may be right," Mohinder agreed wearily, "but the fact of the matter is, if we tell the others about the Spanish transmission, then we'll be taking away any hope that they have for rescue. Hope is a terrible thing to lose, especially in a situation like this."

"So we lie?" Sylar asked quietly. He was surprised that Mohinder had been the one to come up with this plan. He hadn't thought that the genetics professor would be willing to manipulate people's feelings, even if it were for the "greater good." Especially not after what had happened the last time he'd pulled such a stunt.

"Yes," he sighed reluctantly. "We lie. I... I can still try to work on... something, but it will take time."

"Well," Claire shrugged, hugging her legs tighter to herself, "that's one thing we ve got plenty of."

+-+-+-+

_Mohinder moaned sleepily as he turned over in his bed, tangling himself further in his warm sheets. He had been having such a pleasant dream, one that he was more than a bit upset to have come to an abrupt end considering that this was the first time he had actually been able to get to bed at a decent hour in over a month. Yet the cell phone vibrating and chiming loudly on his bed side table simply would not be ignored._

_With a reluctant groan, he reached out his arm and used his sense of touch alone to guide his hand to the small device. A massive yawn tumbled out of his mouth as he placed the phone against his ear. If he had been more awake, he would have apologized at the rudeness of the gesture, but he was far too tired to be polite._

_"Hello?" he yawned, his voice thick with sleep._

_"Mohinder."_

_The gruff voice on the other end of the line was unmistakable, and within seconds, Mohinder found himself wide away and sitting erect in his bed. "Sylar?"_

_"Tell them to stop following me."_

_The Indian man's heart was practically slamming against his ribcage as he listened to Sylar's flat tone speak to him from the other end of the line. His eyes suddenly flashed over to his alarm clock and saw that it was only 4:15 in the morning. He couldn't understand why Sylar was calling him, especially at such a late hour._

_"W-what are you talking about?"_

_"Tell them to stop hunting me," he stressed, his words cutting into Mohinder like a knife to his throat. "I'm done Mohinder. Tell them I'm done."_

_His head was swimming as he tried his hardest to decode what it was Sylar was trying to tell him, but he kept coming up blank. "I don't understand. Tell who?"_

_"Just leave tell them to leave me alone. I'm finished."_

_Before Mohinder could ask him again what he had meant, the line went dead._

+-+-+-+

"Hey... Peter right?"

The nurse craned his head up and was surprised to see Matt standing at the entrance to his tent. "Yeah," he answered, trying his best to offer the older man a friendly smile, but it was difficult to say the least. They had a criminal on the loose and the marshal who had been escorting him was taking a turn for the worse. Not to mention the obvious fact that they were all still stranded on a deserted island.

"Just thought you might want to know that the group that went into the jungle yesterday just came back."

He nodded as he got to his feet. Audrey was sleeping now, she would be okay without him for a little while.

"What did you say you do for a living, Matt?" he asked casually.

"I'm a cop," Matt told him as the two men made their way towards the beach. Well, I was.

Peter could already see Mohinder standing on top of what had once been the wing of the plane, surrounded by a large group of people. It looked like just about everyone had come to hear what the party had found.

"As many of you already know," the Indian man began, "four of us went into the jungle yesterday in an attempt to find a signal to send out a distress message. Unfortunately, we were unsuccessful. However, that does not mean we should give up. I can still try to boost the signal on the transceiver. I will just need everyone to gather cell phones, laptops, and any other electronic device they can find."

"Alright," Matt cut in suddenly, "we should organize everyone into groups."

"That's a good idea," Mohinder agreed. "From the looks of things, it may start to rain soon, so we should also assemble a team to gather fresh water. I'll lead the team searching for electronics, Matthew, would you like to lead the water team?"

Peter listened with mild interest as the two men began splitting up everyone into groups. He couldn't help but feel disappointed as he watched Mohinder taking charge and conversing with Matt. When they had meet, Peter had hoped that Mohinder could have been someone he could turn to, someone to help take some of the burden of the leadership role, but if Mohinder truly was a criminal, he'd have to make sure the man wouldn't be able to hurt anyone.

Yet there was something about the Indian man that made Peter doubt what he had heard. Mohinder seemed so kind and honest. He couldn't imagine the man hurting anyone.

His train of thought was suddenly cut off when he saw Claire approaching him. The blond girl flashed him a weak smile when she saw that she now had his attention. "Can I talk to you, Peter?"

"Of course."

He frowned when Claire started to walk away, motioning for him to follow. He did so and waited in silence for Claire to speak her mind. They were near the medical tent, far enough away that no one else on the beach would hear them, when the girl started to speak in a hushed voice.

"When we were out in the jungle," she began. "We picked up a signal. Some Spanish woman had recorded it about eight years ago, and it's been repeating on a loop ever since. In the message... she kept saying 'they're dead.' We decided not to tell anyone... we didn't want anyone to panic, but I wanted to tell _you_."

He nodded thoughtfully as he listened to Claire's words. He knew he should have been frightened, but for some reason, he wasn't. Somehow, an eight year old unanswered rescue call wasn't quite as troubling as a criminal living among them or a dying woman in his tent.

"Anything else you need to tell me?" he asked, hoping that nothing else had occurred during the trek.

Claire fell silent as her eyes wandered over to the medical tent. "How is she?"

"Not good," Peter sighed. "Her body isn't responding to the antibiotics I gave her. I'll need to find something stronger, but Simone and I already looked through all of the luggage on the beach."

"So what are you going to do?"

"I'll look in the fuselage," he told her. "Everyone's afraid to go in there, so hopefully I'll find something useful."

-+-+-+-

"Give me your hands."

Sylar frowned as he gazed up at Mohinder, shielding his eyes from the bright sun. The Indian man was currently glaring at him as he held clean white bandages in one hand and a small bottle in the other. "Aren't you supposed to be gathering supplies?" Sylar asked as Mohinder sat down across from him.

"Aren't _you _supposed to be keeping a low profile?" the genetic professor snapped as he reach over and grasped Sylar's right arm. "You're putting us both in danger. I need these people to trust me if we're ever going to get rescued. If you keep up your reckless behavior, they'll find out about us."

The fugitive flinched as Mohinder began pouring the burning liquid onto his tender skin. "Not that I care about getting rescued," he hissed. "We get off of this island, I go to jail. Where's my motivation?"

"Don't tell me you actually _want _to stay here?" Mohinder scoffed, wrapping the gauze roughly around Sylar's wrist. "Although I must admit, it's a fitting environment for you. I'm sure you and the creature in the jungle will get along quite well."

"So that's how you see this place, Mohinder?" Sylar smirked as the Indian man grabbed his other wrist and gave it the same harsh treatment. "A death trap?"

"Well, how do you see it?"

Sylar smiled as he raised his free hand to Mohinder's face, cupping the man's cheek in his palm and forcing the professor to look him in the eye. He felt Mohinder stiffen, his dark brown fingers lingering over the unsoiled, white bandages. A perfect contrast. "A fresh start," he told him slowly. "We're free here, Mohinder. We can do anything, _be_ anything in this place. On this island, I don't have to be Gabriel Gray _or _Sylar. I can be someone else all together. Someone better."

"That's a frightening thought," Mohinder joked, but Sylar could hear the tentative fear in his voice.

"You're free too, Mohinder," he assured. "You don't have to pretend to be someone else anymore."

The Indian man's brown eyes narrowed as he studied Sylar's face suspiciously, trying to wrap his mind around what the criminal was getting at. "What are you talking about?"

"I watched you repair the transceiver," he explained. "You were so happy, so content. I could tell that working with tools and wires was more fulfilling for you than handling needles and looking through microscopes. You never wanted to be a geneticist, did you?"

Mohinder's confused expression quickly turned into one of cold hate as he swiftly lifted himself off of the sand. "You don't know anything about me," he spat as he stormed off towards the fuselage.

+-+-+-+

_Mohinder shifted uneasily under Audrey Hanson's intense stare. The blond woman must have been a good foot shorter than him and at least a hundred pounds lighter, but there was just something about the U.S. Marshal that he found quite intimidating even after all these years of them working together to catch Sylar. Although, it couldn't really be helped. She was a marshal trained to hunt down and capture wanted criminals, while he was just a college professor who was unfortunate enough to be caught up in this horrific situation._

_"So you're telling me that Sylar called you up in the middle of the night just to tell_ you_ to tell_ me_ to stop looking for him?" she asked skeptically._

_He couldn't really blame her for not believing him. If he hadn't been the one to receive the phone call, Mohinder himself would have called the whole situation insane. Yet he knew it was true. His cell phone clearly showed that he had not only received a phone call at approximately 4:15 am, but also that he had in fact answered and spoke with the caller for less than a minute. Yet there was no name, no phone number, nothing real to identify just who had contacted him._

_"I know how it seems," he admitted wearily, "but it happened!"_

_"Why wouldn't he just call_ me_?" Hanson asked, folding her arms over her chest._

_"I don't know," he grumbled, rubbing at his eyes impatiently. "I've never known why he insists on contacting me, but it is quite clear he knows we're working together."_

_Hanson frowned thoughtfully, processing his words. She had been chasing Sylar longer than the two of them had known each other, before he had ever crossed paths with the man, and Mohinder knew how much catching him meant to Hanson. It was more than just mere bragging rights, it was a chance to prove her worth, to finally justify her career, and it was because of that intense drive that Mohinder thought the woman was a perfect match for Sylar. They were both blinded by their ambitions, pursing perfection at all cost and not caring what they lost along the way. If anyone could bring him down, it was Audrey Hanson._

_"We got an anonymous tip this morning that Sylar's down under," she told him casually._

_"He's in Australia?" Mohinder blurted out._

_"That's right. And I think the timing of this tip and your phone call is just too coincidental."_

_Mohinder frowned, studying the woman's face carefully. "What are you saying? You think it's a trap?"_

_Hanson smiled coldly at him and Mohinder felt himself shift once more at her expression. He knew that smile. It always meant trouble. Another plot to catch Sylar that would end badly for everyone. "I think he wants us to catch him," she smirked. "And I think we're going to play along and lure him in with some bait of our own."_

_"And by bait, of course. you mean me?"_

_The geneticist watched as Marshal Hanson's smile suddenly turned sweet and he knew right away that this plan was going to get him killed._

+-+-+-+

Peter grimaced as he was abruptly hit by the powerful stench that filled the fuselage. The bodies in there were beginning to rot and the fact that they were sitting out in the hot sun, wrapped up in a giant piece of metal only helped to quicken the process. The young man gagged as he pulled out the small flashlight he'd found in someone's luggage and climbed inside. As a nurse he was probably better prepared to deal with such gruesome sights than any of the other survivors, but that didn't stop his stomach from churning in sympathy for all the people who hadn't been as fortunate as them.

He pushed those feelings aside as he climbed into the midsection of the plane. It was a bad idea to dwell on those thoughts right now. He had more important things to think about, like collecting medicine that he could use to save Audrey. The man shrugged his shoulders, adjusting the backpack that Claire had given to him as he began to look through whatever baggage he could find.

After several minutes of searching through suitcases and pushing aside corpses, Peter was starting to think that things were looking hopeless. He hadn't found anything that looked nearly strong enough to help Audrey fight off the infection spreading through her body or even ease the pain of the process. The most he was able to get his hands on were a few aspirins and a package of birth control pills.

Peter bit his lip as guilt began to fill up inside of him. Her death wouldn't be easy. She wouldn't go right away. It would take anywhere from two to four days for it to happen, and even then it would be painful.

He frowned, checking over the supplies in one more bag. He was just about to move on to another when the sound of something rustling in the distance immediately caught his attention. Peter stiffened as he glanced around him. The sun's light was barely able to illuminate the middle section of the plane, but he could just barely see a shadowy figure off in the distance. The young nurse held his breath as got up and slowly crept over to the form that looked as if it were crouched over something. He was about to pull out his flashlight and illuminate the person, when the stranger suddenly turned and jumped at him, shouting wildly.

Peter yelped as he scrambled backwards, crashing into a row of seats before falling flat on his back. His heart was all but slamming against his ribs as he heard a man's laughter come from above him.

"Sorry mate!" the man chuckled as he walked towards him. "Couldn't resist."

The nurse frowned as he propped himself up on one elbow, grabbing his flashlight so that he could shine it on the stranger's face. The man was tall, six feet at least, with unkempt dirty blond hair and a scruffy beard. The nurse could already tell by his accent that he was most likely British. Peter had seen him before on the beach, but the two had never actually met. He was starting to realize why.

"Very funny," Peter mumbled as he tried to lift himself back up. "What are you doing in here?"

"Same as you," he shrugged, walking past the young man without even glancing down at him. "Hunting for goods."

Peter glared up at the man as he finally managed to get himself back on his own two feet. The stranger's cold attitude towards the deceased was repulsive to say the least and Peter couldn't help but wonder what kind of person could be so unfeeling. "That's disgusting."

"Is it?" he asked, boredom clear in his voice as he bent down to look through another suitcase. "Or am I just adapting to my environment?" The man suddenly paused as if something had just occurred to him. He turned and looked at the younger man carefully. "You're the doctor, aren't you?"

"Nurse," he corrected tightly.

The British man laughed mockingly at him, causing Peter's glare to deepen. "Nurse?" he repeated. "That's cute. So tell me, Poodle, what've you got in the bag?"

"Medicine."

"For the sick woman, yeah? You don't know when to quit, do you?"

"I don't quit," he grumbled, lifting his bag onto his back as he started to leave the cabin. "And my name's Peter."

"Well, Pete, I hate to say it, but you're only making things worse for that poor woman by dragging this out. No one's coming, and you can't save her."

Peter frowned as he turned around as best as he could in the cramped space. "So what am I supposed to do?" he snapped. "Just let her die?"

The taller man frowned, not liking the tone Peter was taking, but the young nurse couldn't really find it in himself to care. If Audrey died here, it would be on his hands. He needed to fix her, he had to. She deserved to live long enough to be rescued.

"I'm saying you should put her out of her misery," the man told him. "It's the right thing to do." His tone was flat, all hints of humor gone, and somehow that made Peter even angrier. The last thing he wanted was to be lectured about right and wrong from a man who stole from the dead.

"I am _not _a murderer," he seethed, as he stormed out of the fuselage.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Heroes or Lost.  
**Warnings:** AU, Violence, Action/Adventure, Drug use, Het, Slash, Crossover/Fusion  
**Author's Notes:** I apologize for the mix up with chapter five. Obviously I did not realize I posted the wrong file until yesterday. So I'm posting this one now to make up for it. Again, I apologize.

**Chapter 6**

The rain started just as abruptly as it had on their second day on the island. It was as if someone somewhere had merely flipped a switch to turn on the rain and it instantly came flooding from the sky. This time, however, everyone was prepared for it. They had all scrambled to their designated shelters and watched as the bins they'd made to catch fresh water fill up. It was comforting to know that they would soon have more water to drink. At least they could all try to live comfortably as they waited for rescue.

Niki frowned, blinking the water out of her eyes as she tied down the piece of tarp that she'd gotten from the plane to a large piece of the wreckage. She really wished that she had finished building their shelter before the rain had started, but she'd been too distracted by the fact that Micah had been seen hanging around some strange man on the beach.

"So who was that guy?" she asked him.

Micah shrugged, scooting closer to the piece of metal acting as the back wall of their temporary shelter. "What guy?"

"You know," she grunted, tying off the rope as tightly as she could manage. She tested the tarp carefully; tugging at the line and making sure the covering would not slip or blow off. "The guy with the horn-rimmed glasses."

"You mean Mr. Bennet?"

"Yeah," Niki agreed as she slid into the tent beside Micah. The blond woman felt her heart clench as her son instantly shifted away from her when she sat down next to him. "What were you and Mr. Bennet talking about?"

"Nothing," he mumbled, drawing circles in the sand and only half listening to Niki's words.

She frowned at the ten year old's response. The woman couldn't understand why the boy was being so indifferent about their situation. Micah was a smart kid, he got straight A's in all of his classes, but for some reason he couldn't see how dangerous his actions were. All Niki wanted to do was keep her son safe, and him running around in the jungle and talking to strangers was more than a little counterproductive.

"'Nothing', huh?" she pushed. "You guys were talking for a while. It looked like something to me."

Micah squirmed uncomfortably, gazing up at his mother with wide brown eyes. "Well, it's kind of a secret."

Her frowned deepened with concern and anger at her son's words. That wasn't exactly what she wanted to hear from the child. "A secret?" she repeated. "Did he tell you not to tell me?"

"No," Micah clarified. "It's just... sort of a general secret."

"Well, if didn't tell you not to tell _me_, then there's no harm in sharing, right?"

The boy shrugged, biting his lip nervously as he tried to decide whether or not to tell his mother what the man had said to him. "He said," he began reluctantly, "a miracle happened to him."

"A miracle happened to all of us Micah," Niki laughed. "We survived a plane crash."

"I don't think that's what he meant, Mom," Micah sighed, going back to drawing shapes in the sand as he waited for the rain to stop.

-+-+-+-

Peter felt his heart stop when he spotted Mohinder in his tent. The Indian man was kneeling beside Audrey, holding her limp wrist gently in his hand while he checked her pulse. The marshal moaned at his touch, gasping and wheezing pathetically as she struggled to regain consciousness. Audrey groaned as her eye lids slowly opened to reveal a pair of blurry, unfocused brown eyes.

"Sylar," she gasped, yanking her wrist out of Mohinder's grasp. She grunted as she strained to lift herself up, pushing at Mohinder and chanting the name "Sylar" over and over.

"What were you doing?" Peter asked, grabbing Mohinder by his shoulders and pulling him away from the marshal.

"You weren't here," Mohinder explained, backing away from him. "I was just checking on her-"

"I know who you are," he shouted, shoving the startled man out of his tent. "You're the prisoner she was escorting! Admit it!"

The Indian man stumbled, pushing his hair out of his eyes. The rain continued to pour all around them, instantly soaking through his clothes and making them stick to his body. "What are you talking about?"

"Someone found a pair of handcuffs in the jungle," Peter told him, raising his voice so that he could be heard above the howling wind. "Audrey told me about you! She warned me to look out for you!"

"You're making a mistake! I am _not_ a criminal!"

"Don't lie to me!" he warned, advancing on the other man. Yet before he could even attempt to grab the Indian, a fist came flying at him, slamming into the side of his face and knocking him flat on his back. The nurse groaned, cradling his throbbing cheek as he looked up to see Gabriel standing over him.

Gabriel scowled down at him, his look icy enough to make Peter's insides freeze as the other man pressed his foot down on his chest, pushing him deeper into the sand. Peter yowled in pain as the taller man continued to press down on his chest; crushing his ribs and making him sink deeper into the soft ground. "Leave him alone," he barked, stomping on the nurse's torso.

"You don't understand," he hissed, straining to escape from underneath the man's foot.

"I understand," Gabriel shouted, shoving him harder and causing a cry of pain to escape the young man's lips. "I understand that he's been helping you and everyone else here on this sand trap since the plane landed, and now you're trying to crucify him? If you're going to start a witch hunt, the least you could do is get some real evidence first!"

"Stop it!" Mohinder yelled. He grabbed Gabriel's arm and tried his hardest to pull him away, but the pale man would not budge. "Sy... Gabriel! Please, stop it!"

Peter gasped, taking in deep greedy breaths when Gabriel finally lifted his foot off of his chest. He coughed and panted as he watched the two men walk away from him, noticing the bandages wrapped around Gabriel's wrists and the fact that Mohinder had stopped himself from calling his companion by another name.

+-+-+-+

_"You know, I'm glad they're drugging me," Sylar told him. His was tone surprisingly playful considering the fact that he was currently handcuffed and waiting with airport security to be taken back to the United States. "I'd hate to be awake while Hanson does her little victory lap around the plane." He clicked his tongue, adjusting himself in his folding chair as his cuffs slid along the metal table. "She hasn't been very modest about this. In fact, she's taking all the credit for catching me. But we both know_ you _did all the work, Professor."_

_Mohinder bit his cheek as he pressed himself flat against the wall. Hanson had gone to get a doctor to give Sylar his shot, leaving him and three armed guards to watch the murderer._

_"Why are you still talking to me?" he snapped. Sylar hadn't stopped talking since Hanson had left the interrogation room. He wouldn't speak to her, but he wouldn't_ stop_ speaking to him. "If you truly believe that I'm the one who caught you, why aren't you giving me the silent treatment?"_

_"Because you'd enjoy it, wouldn't you?" The serial killer's smirk was enough to make Mohinder want to pull his own hair out. He hated being here. He hated being anywhere near Sylar, and now he was going to have to be trapped on an airplane with him for sixteen hours. Even if he would be unconscious Mohinder was certain that Sylar would find some way to irritate him. "Besides, I called you didn't I? I brought this on myself."_

_The Indian man raised an eyebrow at Sylar's sudden admission. "Why did you call me?"_

_"Because I knew you'd come," he told him casually as he studied his handcuffs._

_"Then you must have known I wouldn't come alone!"_

_"Of course you wouldn't. You're too logical for that."_

_"So you're going to go to jail, just because wanted me to visit you in Australia?"_

_Sylar froze suddenly losing interest in his restraints. He turned and gazed at Mohinder, his expression blank and completely unreadable. "I'm not going to jail Mohinder," he told him seriously. "We_ are_ going to be together. Destiny will see to that."_

+-+-+-+

The rain had come to a sudden stop around twilight and the castaways now found themselves with a fresh supply of clean water to drink. Unfortunately, they also had to deal with the constant groans and pained screams that came from Peter's medical tent. After his fight with Mohinder and Gabriel, Peter had returned to his tent to find that Audrey's abdomen had gone ridged. The woman had at least two days left to live and all Peter could do now was make sure that she was comfortable.

He grimaced as he poured water down the dying woman's throat. She was burning up and her throat was most likely sore from screaming. The young man's heart clenched as he brushed his finger tips over her yellow skin and felt her flinch away from his touch.

"I want... I want to talk to him," she gasped.

"Who?" he whispered gently, although he already knew exactly who Audrey had meant.

"Mo-Mohinder."

-+-+-+-

Mohinder wasn't surprised when Peter told him that Audrey wanted to speak to him. He had known just from looking at her that she was going to die soon. The only question was what was he going to say to her? Audrey would most likely ask him about Sylar, but he didn't know whether or not to tell her the truth. A part of him wanted to lie, wanted to convince her that Sylar was dead so that she could die with a sense of accomplishment, but he knew it was wrong. She had a right to know the truth.

The geneticist frowned as he crouched beside the sick woman. She smiled weakly at him, almost as if she were amused by his expression. "Hey, Suresh," she wheezed. "Some heroes we turned out to be, huh?"

"You were very heroic, Audrey," he assured her, taking the woman's limp hand in his own. "You always did your best, even when nobody believed in you."

Her smile widened as she gave his hand a weak squeeze. "D-didn't get me very far," she whispered. "Only... only got the job half done." She paused, wincing as another wave of pain spread over her. "What... what did you wish for?"

Mohinder frowned in confusion at the marshal's words. "What?"

"On... on the plane," she wheezed. "Right before I blacked out... you said... 'I wish.' What were you gonna say?"

The Indian man flashed a sheepish small, suddenly feeling very foolish for what he had been thinking earlier. "I was going to say," he began hesitantly. "'I wish I had never gone to Australia.'"

Audrey's body began to quake as her bitter laughter quickly turned into a fit of coughs and Mohinder suddenly wished he had kept his selfish thought to himself. "If I could go back... and change all that... I would." Her face was quickly turning bright red as the coughs continued to shake her body. She struggled to take in deep breaths to calm herself. "He's... he's still out there isn't he?"

Mohinder swallowed past the lump in his throat. "Yes," he said truthfully. "He's still alive."

"D-don't trust him," she breathed. "He's... he'll turn on you. Don't believe... anything..." Her warning was cut off as she was abruptly hit by another bout of coughs.

"You have to save your strength," he urged her.

"Mohinder," she whispered, "I'm... I'm gonna die... aren't I?"

Tears began to well up in his eyes. He'd known Audrey for four years. Never would he have imaged things ending this way. "Y-yes."

Her eyes filled with tears as she flashed him a weak smile. "Well," she whispered, blinking away the tears. "Are you gonna do it? Are... are you gonna be my hero?"

-+-+-+-

"So what's going on?"

Peter smiled as he turned to see Claire approaching him. He hadn't seen much of the girl since the small group had gotten back from their trek through the jungle. "Mohinder's talking with the marshal," he told her simply.

"Mohinder?" she repeated. "That's kind of dangerous."

The nurse frowned, studying the teenager carefully. He could tell from her light tone that the girl was joking, but something still troubled him about her comment. "Dangerous? How?"

"Because he has the gun," she explained.

Peter felt his eyes nearly triple at the girl's words. "Gun?"

"Yeah, he has the marshal's gun," she shrugged. "He's been carrying it around since yesterday."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

The question had barely passed his lips before Peter turned away from the teenager and raced towards the medical tent, his heart pounding in his ears. He could hardly hear Claire saying "Because he wouldn't use it!" as he came to a halt, watching as Mohinder slipped out of the medical tent, head bowed forlornly. He was just about to say a silent pray of thanks that the man had done the right thing, when a gun suddenly went off inside the tent.

His heart stopped dead in his chest as Gabriel walked out, the recently fired weapon still in his hands.

"What did you do?" he cried. His hands began to ball themselves into fists as he fought to resist the urge to hit the other man.

"What you couldn't," he said simply. "Being a nurse, I understand why you couldn't bring yourself to do it, but that's what she wanted. She was suffering." He smirked coldly, as he pointed the handle of the gun towards the younger man. "It was the last bullet, but I think you should keep this anyway."

-+-+-+-

"Ya know Ginger and Marie Ann have been looking for you all morning Gilligan."

Peter grimaced when the all too familiar British accent met his ears. He turned his eyes away from the rising sun to see the man he'd met in the fuselage approaching him. "That's probably because I wanted to be alone," he grumbled pointedly, turning his back towards the other man.

"So you've been up all night beating yourself up because someone else euthanized the woman you'd been torturing for three days."

The nurse clenched his teeth together, pounding at the sand in frustration. "If that's how you want to look at it, then fine!" he snapped. "Just leave me alone!"

As soon as he spoke, the other man decided to smack the back of his head. Peter grunted, turning around to face the older man, only to have him grab him by his collar and drag him to his feet. "Grow up, Pete," he barked. "You're a bloody nurse. You should be used to seeing patients die."

"That doesn't make it easy!"

"It's not about easy! It's about knowing when to let go! Ya might not like what Eyebrows did, but it was the right thing. Like it or not, we're all gonna be stuck here for a long time, and the last thing these people need is for the only nurse on the island to have a nervous breakdown. So dry your eyes, brush your hair out of your face, and be a man."

Peter felt his throat tighten and his cheeks flush bright red. He knew what the British man had said was right, even if he didn't like the way he had said it. There were other people on the island and they still needed him. Audrey was gone now and he was going to have to accept that.

"You know," Peter began, trying his best to keep his emotions in check, "you've been giving me a hard time since we met, but I don't even know your name."

The British man laughed, smacking him playfully on his back (at least, Peter had thought it was meant to be playful, but in truth, the man nearly knocked him on his face) as he began to walk way. "The name's Claude Rains," he told him, "and if you ever need a good smack, don't hesitate to come find me."

-+-+-+-

Sylar frowned as he watched Mohinder sitting hunched over his workbench. The man hadn't slept at all last night and hadn't said anything since he had given Sylar the gun and asked him to put Audrey out of her misery. He knew right away that the marshal's death was at the center of Mohinder's mind. The geneticist might not have been the one to pull the trigger, but he had had a hand in the woman's death. Your first kill wasn't an easy thing to get over, and no doubt the guilt was eating away at him.

"I brought you some breakfast," he announced, placing an apple and a bottle of water in front of the other man.

Mohinder didn't even bother to look up at him or his offerings. Instead, he stayed focused on taking apart cell phones and studying whether or not their parts would be useful for boosting the transceiver.

The serial killer sighed as he sat down beside the Indian man. "You should eat something."

"I'm not hungry," he said, his tone flat and indifferent.

Sylar scooted closer to the other man allowing his thigh to lightly brush against Mohinder's side. "You didn't do anything wrong," he assured him. "I pulled the trigger, not you."

"But she asked _me_ to do it," he whispered. "I was... I was too much of a coward to help her."

"Having respect for human life doesn't make you a coward." The words sounded so hollow and wrong coming from him, but he knew it was what Mohinder needed to hear. "If you were a coward, you wouldn't have gone to Sydney just to find me. You wouldn't have worked with Audrey for all these years, just to protect other people and do the right thing. You're very brave Mohinder, but you are _not_ a killer."

Sylar watched sympathetically as tears started to appear in the other man's eyes. Mohinder bowed his head, shifting away from him and Sylar reflectively moved closer, determined to maintain their close proximity. He wanted Mohinder to know that he would be there for him, that he could offer the other man a shoulder to lean on or a sympathetic ear if he needed it.

"I'm going to tell Peter," Mohinder whispered, fighting back the tears stinging his eyes. "He... He's already suspicious of us. Maybe I can regain some trust if I come clean."

"Whatever you want," he assured him, placing a comforting hand on Mohinder's shoulder only to have it brushed away. "We're in this together."


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Heroes or Lost.  
**Warnings:** AU, Violence, Action/Adventure, Drug use, Het, Slash, Crossover/Fusion

**Chapter 7**

"So Gabriel is Sylar?" Peter said thoughtfully. "I sort of figured as much."

The two men had approached him late at night with the news. Peter didn't bother to ask why they hadn't told him about all this earlier that day since it was obvious that they wanted only him to hear. The later in the day they told him; the less likely it would be that any of the other survivors would be listening in on their conversation.

"Really?" Sylar smirked. "Because yesterday you were ready to kill Mohinder because you thought _he_ was Audrey's prisoner."

Peter frowned at the other man's comment, crossing his arms over his chest angrily. "That was until I noticed the bandages around your wrists," the young man clarified. "Luckily, only two people saw the handcuffs."

"But now everyone knows that there was an armed U.S. Marshal on the plane," Mohinder sighed wearily. "That gunshot must have been heard by everyone on the beach, so if they hadn't known about the firearm before, they know now."

Peter could tell just by looking at the other man that he was still feeling upset over Audrey's death and the young nurse probably would have felt more sympathy for him if he hadn't tried to hide a murderer among their group of survivors. Words couldn't describe the feeling of dread that had come over him when Mohinder had informed him that Sylar wasn't just some criminal, but a serial killer. Peter shuddered at the very idea of Sylar attacking one of the other survivors.

"I really wish you had come to me earlier," Peter groused, rubbing his temples.

"Why?" Sylar snapped. "What are you, twenty one? Twenty two?"

"Twenty six," he corrected.

"Well, why should a grown man turn to a child for help?"

The nurse frowned at the serial killer. Sylar wasn't exactly making a good impression on him, not that punching him in the face and stepping on his chest were working in his favor. "Well for the past four days, everyone on this beach has been looking to _me_ for guidance," he told him dryly. "And if they find out who Sylar is and what he did, it's just going to cause a panic."

"That's pretty much the exact same thing I said two days ago," Sylar said, rolling his eyes as he turned to walk away from the other two men.

Mohinder started to follow him, but Peter quickly grabbed his upper arm, stopping him in his tracks.

"Matt's a cop," he whispered to the Indian man. "I think we should tell him about all this as well."

"I suppose you're right," he whispered back. "Peter. I'm truly sorry about this. I wanted to tell you... but I was hoping that we'd be rescued by now."

"Yeah," he shrugged. "We all were."

Mohinder smiled weakly at him, about to say something else, but he was suddenly cut off as a loud crash came from the fuselage. The two men fell silent, listening carefully to the sound of something scrambling around and rustling through the midsection of the plane.

"What was that?" Mohinder whispered as he slowly made his way towards the wreckage. Peter frowned, grabbing his flashlight and following his fellow survivor. It wasn't long before half the beach was now wide awake and staring worriedly at the fuselage.

He felt more than heard Claire come and stand next to him. "Something's in there," she said, standing on the tips of her toes to try to get a better look inside.

"It's probably Claude," he grumbled, knowing that the British man, unlike the other castaways, had absolutely no problems going through the fuselage and stealing from the dead passengers.

"Right behind ya, Poodle," Claude grumbled. The young man jumped as he turned around to see Claude glaring at him in displeasure. He didn't think it was possible, but the man had actually managed to look even grumpier than usual. Clearly he wasn't happy about being woken up in the middle of the night and then be accused of something he didn't do.

Peter tried his best to hide the blush spreading across his cheeks as he turned back towards the source of the noise. He frowned, shinning his small flashlight at the wreckage. Very little was illuminated, but he was still barely able to see something darting back and forth in the cabin of the plane.

An annoyed grunt suddenly came from behind him as someone else turned on a much bigger flashlight, its beam illuminating nearly half the plane. He glanced over his shoulder quickly to see that the light had come from Claude, no doubt something else he had taken from the fuselage earlier. Rolling his eyes, he turned back towards the broken piece of the plane. The nurse frowned, edging closer towards the fuselage. His hand stilled as his flashlight passed over what looked like the back of a furry four legged beast.

The young man was about to warn the others to back away, when Claude suddenly shined his light on the beast's eye. A terrified roar suddenly erupted from within the fuselage which was soon echoed by several more animals. The frightened creatures started to scramble around the cabin, crashing into each other as they tried to escape.

"Run!" Peter shouted as the animals began to charge towards the crowd of people.

The young nurse grabbed Claire's arm and dragged the girl away just as one of the animals came charging towards the crowd of frightened castaways. The survivors began scrambling away frantically as the beasts began smashing into things as they struggled to find their way back to the jungle.

"What was that?" Claire gasped as she watched the last of the animals disappear into the jungle.

A tall man wearing horn-rimmed glasses suddenly appeared beside them, a strange gleam in his eyes. "Boar," he answered as an ominous smirk spread across his features.

-+-+-+-

Isaac hissed as Peter gently dabbed at the gash on his leg, a souvenir he had received from one of the boars. Simone frowned as she studied her boyfriend's injury. She never would have thought that a couple of wild pigs could do so much damage.

"What were they looking for?" she asked.

Mohinder shrugged, holding the flashlight so that the nurse would have a better view of his patient s wound. "Probably food," he answered.

"Something has to be done about those bodies," Peter mumbled, placing gauze over the bloody patch on Isaac's leg.

"What? Bury them?" Isaac asked. "There s a lot of people in there."

"And we don't have any shovels," Simone pointed out. "Digging will be a real pain."

"I'm not talking about burying them, guys," Peter blurted out. "I think we should burn them."

The three other occupants of the medical tent fell silent as they each processed Peter's words. A knot began to form in Simone's stomach at the idea of burning the dead passengers. It wasn't their place to make this sort of decision, especially one as final as destroying the bodies of what had once been living breathing human beings.

"They're people," Simone whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "They deserve better than that."

"I know," the nurse sighed as he taped down the cotton pads he'd just placed on Isaac's leg. "But they also deserve a lot better than being eaten by wild animals. Any bodies we bury are just going to be dug up by the boar. We burn the fuselage at sun down tomorrow." That said, the nurse picked himself up and walked away, leaving the three alone in the tent.

"If he's so eager to burn the bodies, why wait 'til sun down?" Isaac asked, poking at his newly bandaged leg. Simone frowned at him, brushing the man's hand away.

Mohinder shifted, flicking off the small flashlight. "He's hoping someone will see the fire," he explained simply before leaving the two alone.

-+-+-+-

Peter was displeased to wake up the next morning to the sounds of an argument on the beach. The young man scowled as he peeked out of his tent to see that most of survivors were either bickering with one another or standing around looking tense and frightened.

Claire suddenly appeared in front of him, emerging from the angry mob with a very troubled Matt walking close beside her. "Peter," she whispered, trying to keep her voice as calm as possible. "We sorta... have a problem."

"The food's gone," Matt blurted out, although that didn't really surprise the younger man. Since day one Matt had been nothing but direct in his intentions and words. He clearly wasn't the type of person to dance around an issue, especially one as serious as theirs.

"Gone?" he repeated. "What do you mean gone? Wasn't there a ton of food in the plane?"

"Well, not anymore," Matt told him honestly. "Look, Peter, everyone thought we were going to be rescued by now, so they all just ate as much as they wanted."

"What are we supposed to do?" Claire asked, her lip pouting in concern. "We have forty seven people to feed."

"What ya need ta do is tell everyone to stay the hell away from _my_ stash!"

The three castaways turned to stare at Claude who was suddenly approaching from the center of the crowd. The other men and women were close on his trail indicating, to no surprise, that the British man had been the one at the center of the commotion.

"Your stash?" Peter snapped. "You mean the things you _stole_ from the fuselage?"

"Well, aside from you, Pup, I didn't see anyone else in there diggin' 'round with me," he said, pointedly taking a step towards Peter and raising himself to his full height. The young nurse was embarrassed to have to crane his neck up slightly just to be able to look the other man in the eye. "So tell me why they should all be able to share in my hard work?"

"Maybe because we're all in this together?" Matt sneered, folding his arms over his chest.

"Stuff if, Tubby," Claude barked. "Don't tell me ya haven't had more than your fair share."

Matt stiffened, anger radiating behind his eyes, and Peter was starting to think that he might have a fist fight on his hands. Fortunately, Claire suddenly stepped between the two, drawing their attention towards her and away from each other.

"Guys, this isn't helping!" she chided. "We need food! How are we gonna get it?"

Just as the question left her lips, a hunting knife came flying out of nowhere and landing a mere inch away from Claude's foot. The occupants of the beach all turned to stare over at a tall man with short, dirty blond hair and a pair of horn-rimmed glasses.

"We hunt," he told the group plainly. "We know there are wild boars on the island. Razorbacks, by the look of them. The ones that came into the camp last night were piglets, one hundred, one hundred fifty pounds each. Which means that there's a mother nearby. A two hundred fifty pound rat, with scimitar-like tusks, and a surly disposition, who'd love nothing more than to eviscerate anything that comes near. Boar's usual mode of attack is to circle around and charge from behind so I figure it'll take at least three of us to distract her long enough for me to flank one of the piglets, pin it, and slit its throat."

Peter frowned as he grasped the knife the mysterious man had thrown and handed it back to him. "That's a great idea, Mister...?"

"Bennet," Niki provided, standing a good foot behind the man in horn-rimmed glasses. A suspicious look clear on her face as she glared at the middle aged man's back. "His name is 'Bennet'."

"You're all insane!" Claude shouted, shaking his head in disapproval. "So you're going to have three people go wandering around in the haunted jungle with nothin', but one knife and their bare hands ta catch a couple of boars that trashed our camp and gored a few of us?"

Peter turned towards Bennet to see if he had anything more to add and was taken by surprise as the older man walked over to a metal suitcase, opening it to reveal a set of at least a dozen hunting knives.

"Fantastic!" Claude laughed. "A pack of knives and three loons to catch us some dinner. Best plan I've ever heard!"

"And what's your plan, Claude?" Peter snapped. "You gonna go into the jungle and yell at the trees until they throw fruit at you?"

Claude sneered as he grasped the young man by his arm and pulled him close. "Just sayin', Pup," he whispered. "This bloke ain't said more than two words since we crashed here. We don't know anything about him."

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_Bennet glanced at his surrounding carefully, making sure that no one was watching him as his hand raised towards the phone that was currently ringing frantically. Once he was assured that the area was clear, he quickly grasped the receiver and placed it to his ear._

_"Colonel Bennet?" the voice on the other line began, before he could even issue a greeting. "Is this line secure?"_

_"Roger that," he confirmed seriously. Grasping a pen and pad of paper, the man readied himself for any notes that he might have to jot down._

_"Good. I'll meet you at the usual rendezvous point at exactly 1300 hours."_

_He was about to respond to the other man's words, when suddenly an all too familiar voice interrupted his train of thought._

_"Bennet!" Thompson barked, smacking his cubicle with a stack of papers. "What have I told you about personal calls during work hours? And I'll be needing those TPS reports on my desk at noon! Not twelve thirty. Not twelve fifteen._ Twelve_!"_

_Bennet scowled, placing the phone back on its cradle and shifting himself back towards his computer monitor. "I know, Thompson."_

_"Get back to work," the other man ordered, a mocking tone clear in his voice as he muttered "Colonel Bennet" under his breath._

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"Working hard?" Claire teased as she approached Mohinder's work station. Since the marshal's death, the Indian man had been practically obsessed with his work, but the blond teen couldn't really blame him. They all wanted to get off of this island and at the moment it was looking like Mohinder was their last hope. It was a lot of pressure to put on one person, especially after suffering such a tragedy, and Claire was more than willing to do anything in her power to help out and relieve some of his tension.

Mohinder glanced up at her quickly before pulling out what looked like a much bigger, modified version of the original transceiver. "I suppose you could say that," he smirked.

"Whoa," she gasped, carefully taking in the impressive device. "Is that the same transceiver?"

"Actually, it's an antenna," he corrected. "The Spanish woman's distress call was coming from somewhere on the island. If we could find the source of her transmission, then maybe we could cut it off and set up one of our own. If I could set up this antenna at a high elevation on the island, it might increase our chances of finding it."

Claire nodded thoughtfully. She had always considered herself a fairly smart girl, she'd always gotten A's and B's in all of her classes, but even with her intelligence she was struggling to keep up with some of the Indian man's ideas. If she remembered correctly, Gabriel had called him a "Professor" earlier. She could easily see the man in a college setting, teaching eager young minds to tinker with electronics and set up complicated communication systems.

"Alright," she mused. "I suppose I could attach it somewhere in the jungle while we're out hunting for boar."

Mohinder frowned, raising a quizzical eyebrow at her. "You're actually going into the woods with that man?"

"Yeah," she shrugged. "He seems like a nice enough guy."

-+-+-+-

"I don't need a babysitter," Micah groused as Niki lead him across the beach, weaving between crowds of people in search of someone who seemed both responsible and safe. "Why can't I just come with you?"

She couldn't leave Micah with Matt or Peter, since they were busy picking through the fuselage in order to burn it tonight. Claire was going with her on the hunt, so that crossed her off the list. There was simply something about Isaac that she didn't trust, it was probably his twitchy nature and the constant redness in his eyes, so he was out and unfortunately that meant Simone was out as well. Simone and Isaac were a couple and it seemed, like with every couple, you couldn't get one without the other.

"Because I said no," she told him firmly. "You saw what those boar did to the camp. Besides, there's that crazy jungle monster out there. You're safest here on the beach. And hey, this will be a good chance for me to get to know your friend Mr. Bennet a bit better."

Her eyes lit up when she spotted the round faced Asian man with wire framed glasses sitting alone on the beach reading a comic book. The man might not speak a word of English, but at least he was a safe pick. He wasn't wandering into the jungle or handling dead bodies. He was a perfect candidate for a babysitter.

"Excuse me!" she called, waving her arms at him and pulling on her brightest smile. "Hello?" The Asian man blinked as he turned to stare up at her, confusion written all over his face. "Hi," she beamed raising her voice and talking slowly so that he could catch everything she said. "_I_... am going _off_ she explained, using her hands to help with any words she thought he may not understand, to _hunt_. Could _you_... keep an _eye_ on my boy... _Micah_. And I'm Niki."

The young man's eyes were wide as he scrunched up his face, listening intently to her words. He nodded his head slowly, most likely still not understand exactly what she had said, but Micah knew well enough to stay with him, and that was the most important thing.

-+-+-+-

"Hey! Peter?"

Peter looked up and smiled as he saw Simone walking towards him, a small binder with a floral and lace pattern clutched in her hands. He took a few steps away from the fuselage, in order to protect the woman from the harsh stench of dead bodies.

"Hey," he greeted, pulling off the torn piece of cloth he'd wrapped around his nose and mouth to keep from being over powered by the odor. "What's up?"

"Nothing much," she smiled playfully. "I was just thinking, since you're going to be burning the bodies tonight, maybe you could lead a service. You know, say a few words about the dead or read off some names? Something like that."

Peter frowned shielding his eyes from the harsh sunlight. He usually he would have been more than happy to agree with the woman, to drop everything and work with her on the service, but he had just too many things going on right now. Preparing the fuselage for the fire tonight was going to take the entire day, even with all the help he was getting from the other survivors, and he still hadn't gotten a chance to tell Matt about the whole Sylar situation.

"That sounds like a really good idea," he told her. "But... I just can't right now. But you should definitely do it!"

"Me?"

"Yeah, I'm sure you'll be able to come up with something great!"

"Yeah, but I'm not..."

His stomach tightened as her words suddenly trailed off. He knew right away what she was going to say. She was about to tell him that he should do it because the castaways had all decided he was now their "_de facto_ leader." Peter wasn't used to this kind of role. He was a nurse, with barely any experience in that field. He'd spent most of his life following the instructions of others, taking charge like this was completely foreign to him.

The young man was about to apologize and offer her a hand later on when his eyes suddenly caught sight of something that made his heart stop dead in his chest. A brown haired man with a strong chin was standing off in the distance sporting a black suit and a pair of clean, white tennis shoes. The young nurse took a few hesitant steps towards what he knew in his heart to be a hallucination only to have the figure turn and walk away into the jungle.

"Peter? Peter?" The nurse blinked as he turned around to gaze at Simone's worried expression. "Are you alright?"

He glanced back over his shoulder and saw no sign of the brown haired man he had just seen.

-+-+-+-

Claire held her breath as she carefully followed Mr. Bennet's lead and crept quietly through the jungle, making sure to step over twigs and ducking branches. She had gone hunting a few times before with her Uncle Flint, so she knew to keep as quiet as possible and keep an eye open for any sort of tracks the boar might have left behind. Niki on the other hand was clearly new to this. She was looking around herself hesitantly and tripping over her own feet. Claire could tell that the older woman was terrified by what was lurking out there and the teenager decided right away that she should do something to put the woman at ease.

"So, your son, how's he holding up?" she asked, politely.

"Good," Niki nodded. "He's doing well... better than me."

She smiled at the woman as Mr. Bennet continued to study the ground for boar tracks. "You must be really proud of him. He's a really brave kid."

The blond woman laughed bitterly, shaking her head at Claire's words. "I can't really take credit for that," she told her. Claire frowned, not quite understanding what the woman meant. "I haven't really been a part of his life since he was a baby. I was just in Australia to go get him... His father died and I got custody."

"Oh," Claire whispered, suddenly feeling very awkward. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," the older woman shrugged. "At least I get to spend time with him." An uncomfortable pause suddenly fell upon the group as Bennet knelt down in front of a large tree trunk studying the markings carefully. "So what were you doing in Australia?"

Claire froze, a deep red blush spreading across her face as she tried to decide whether or not to answer the woman's question truthfully. Fortunately, Bennet cut them both off when he turned to hush the two blondes.

"These are tusk marks," he told the women, pointing to the scratches on the base of the tree. "The boars most likely used this tree to sharpen their tusks. They can't be much farther now."

Just as soon as the man spoke, loud grunts and squeals erupted from a few feet away. The middle aged man smirked as he crouched down low to the ground, signaling for Niki and Claire to do the same. The two blond girls did as they were directed, waiting silently for something to happen. Bennet began to gesture with his hands, directing the girls to spread out and get ready to distract the mother boar while he went after one of the piglets, but Niki didn't seem to grasp his hand movements and made her confusion known.

"Are you trying to give us the 'steal' sign?"

The woman was whispering, but she obviously spoke a bit too loudly as it caught the attention of the mother boar who came charging towards them. Claire and Bennet scrambled out of the way as the wild pig made a direct bee line straight towards Niki, who did her best to back pedal and dive out of the way, only to have the boar scrape her leg with its massive tusk. The woman howled in pain, as she landed flat on her back, blood seeping out of the large cut on her leg.

"Niki?" Claire gasped, scrambling back onto her feet as she went over to check the other woman's condition. "Mr. Bennet? Mr. Bennet, Niki's hurt!"

Her words were met with silence, and for one horrifying moment, Claire felt certain that Mr. Bennet had blacked out.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Heroes or Lost.  
**Warnings:** AU, Violence, Action/Adventure, Drug use, Het, Slash, Crossover/Fusion

**Chapter 8**

_Bennet barely raised his head when he heard the door creek open followed by the familiar sound of keys jingling. He already knew it was Sandra. She was the only person who came to see him and the only reason she did so was most likely out of guilt. Forcing herself to come visit him once a week helped her sleep at night._

_"Noah?" she called. He could tell from the slight strain in her voice that her arms were full, no doubt with grocery bags. "You here?"_

_He wanted to yell at her, bitterly reminding the woman that he had nowhere else to go and no one else to be with, but he held his tongue. "Yeah," he said. "I'm here."_

_She barely had to take more than three steps from the door to peek around the corner into the "bedroom" area of his apartment. He hated this apartment. The cramped dingy little space had all the warmth and appeal of a prison cell. He didn't bother to clean (no one came to see him, so there didn't really seem to be much of a point), so stacks of empty food and drink containers littered the floor. When Sandra came by for her weekly visits, she usually tried to pick up bits and pieces of trash, but the apartment would soon return to its typical state of clutter soon after she left. He had tried decorating once, placing pictures of happier times around the room, but they only made him feel empty and alone so they came down as quickly as they were put up._

_"My God, Noah," Sandra chided, just as she did every week. "This place is a right mess!"_

_Bennet rolled his eyes and shifted his weight on his lumpy mattress. He clicked off the radio that rested on his bedside table as he prepared himself for Sandra's weekly chatter. At least this time she hadn't brought that dog, Mr. Muggles, with her. She'd adopted him soon after their separation and Bennet had always resented the fluffy little Pomeranian. He liked dogs -- big dogs, the useful kind, not tiny lap dogs -- but whenever that creature gave out a high pitched yap, he felt sick inside._

_"Have you eaten yet?" she asked, heading towards the kitchen to put the food away._

_"I ate," he told her._

_"Cereal?" she guessed (accurately, he was ashamed to admit). "That's not dinner. I'll make you some real food."_

_"I'll give you a hand," Bennet suggested, shifting himself towards the edge of his bed._

_"No no," she told him pleasantly. "Let me do it."_

_A knot formed in the pit of his stomach. He could read between the lines. He knew that "Let me do it" really meant "You_ can't_ do it."_

+-+-+-+

"Mr. Bennet? Mr. Bennet, Niki's hurt!"

Bennet panted heavily as he lay on his back, trying to catch his breath. The boar had knocked the wind out of him, causing the former paper salesman to slip and bang his head on the root of a tree. He gasped, craning his neck up and looking down at his feet. A wave of comfort washed over him as he watched his toes wiggle back and forth from inside his shoes.

"Mr. Bennet? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Sandra," Bennet gasped, picking himself back up carefully. "I just got the wind knocked out of me."

Niki howled in pain as Claire tore off a piece of her shirt and wrapped it around the other blonde s leg. "Sandra?" she repeated, confusion clear in her tone. "Who s Sandra?"

"Claire," he corrected himself, feeling a light blush spreading across his cheeks. "I meant Claire." He frowned, looking around at the broken branches and snapped twigs that the boar had left behind in her hurry to get away. "I think the boar headed this way."

"No way," Claire said. "Niki's hurt. We've gotta get her to Peter."

Even as she defied him, he found himself liking Claire more and more. She was a head strong and confident girl. Her parents must have been proud of her.

"Okay," he shrugged, waddling towards where the boar had disappeared to. "You two go back. I'm gonna go get that boar?"

"By yourself? You can't!"

Any other time, Bennet would have thought of the little girl's concern as sweet, but right now his mind was set on one thing and one thing only: getting that boar. "Don't tell me what I can't do."

+-+-+-+

_"I'm not useless," he grumbled. "I'm not a child. I can do things by myself."_

_Sandra sighed, opening the cabinets and putting away the dishes she had just washed and dried. "I know you can," she whispered. "It's just... I worry 'bout you."_

_"You don't have to. I'm capable." He frowned, remembering how different things used to be. When they had first met, Sandra was the one who had relied on him for everything. When they were still dating, she would always play up her vulnerability just to have him give her attention. "Oh Noah!" she'd say, batting her eyes and placing a delicate hand on her hip. "My hands are so tired! I can't open this darn jar!" Yet it'd all changed. He'd changed. "Do you remember that Aboriginal Walkabout?"_

_"'Course I do." He could practically_ hear_ her eyes rolling wearily. "It's all you've talked 'bout for years! Said you were gonna..."_

_She stopped herself from finishing that thought and he was grateful for it._

_"Well, I bought my ticket," he announced. "I'm going to Australia."_

_A series of thuds and bangs echoed from within the tiny kitchen and Bennet knew right away that Sandra had dropped_ something_. "What?" she gasped. "Are you joking?"_

_"I leave in a week."_

_Silence fell as the woman quickly walked towards his bedside, staring at him skeptically. He flashed a tired smile as he reached over and showed her his plane ticket. She took it from him, her hands trembling as her wide eyes studied the printed information._

_"Noah," she practically whispered. "You can't be serious. You could get killed!"_

_"I won't," he sighed, frustrated by his ex-wife's skepticism. "I'll be fine. I was meant to do this."_

_"Don't start that 'destiny' stuff with me, Noah Bennet!" she snapped, her voice dripping with weariness. It was like a scene from their marriage._

_"Norman Croucher."_

_Sandra blinked, not at all following his logic. "What?"_

_"Norman Croucher," he repeated. "Norman Croucher, double amputee, no legs. He climbed to the top of Mt. Everest. Why? Because it was his destiny."*_

_She laughed, a strange bitter sound that she only made when he said something she knew was absolutely crazy. "You're a middle aged man, Noah," she told him. "You don't have a 'destiny.' Just look at you! Your little day dreams could get you killed! You can't do this."_

_He clenched his hands into fists as he stared up at her. His heart was like a jackhammer in his chest as his skin turned bright red. At that moment, he would have rather died than stay in this pathetic life he d been trapped in for one more second. "Don't tell me what I can't do."_

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Claire grunted as she supported Niki's weight. It was awkward and slow moving through the jungle like this, the older woman was a good half a foot taller than her and it was difficult for the two blondes to find a comfortable rhythm as they made their way back to the beach. The teenager sighed in frustration as she looked around her, trying to spot a tree that would be tall enough to place the antenna she had been carrying around in her backpack. She smiled as she came across one that looked to be just the right height and was suitable for climbing.

"Okay, let's stop for a minute," she suggested as she came to a halt.

"Shouldn't the injured lady be the one to say when we stop?" Niki joked as she moved herself to rest against a tree. She frowned when she noticed Claire taking off her backpack and setting it down on the ground. "What are you doing?"

Claire smiled as she pulled out Mohinder's makeshift antenna and a rope from her bag. "Trying to boost the transceiver s signal," she explained simply. "I'm gonna climb to the top of that tree and attach this antenna."

"You're gonna climb _that_?" Niki repeated, quirking a quizzical eyebrow as she studied the massive plant shooting up towards the sky.

"Yeah," she shrugged. "I used to climb trees all the time when I was little."

Niki sat down on the ground as she watched the blonde teen climb up the tree. Claire grunted, pulling herself up with a bit of difficulty. She hadn't been lying when she told Niki that she'd climbed trees all the time when she was younger. Growing up in Texas she had been a bit of a tomboy, always trying to outdo all the boys in their little games, but once she had hit thirteen things had changed. She had suddenly become focused on makeup, clothes, and making sure her hair looked just right. It had been a while since she'd actually done something like this.

It didn't take long before the girl reached the top of the tree, but she was still disappointed in herself for being so worn out. At least being trapped on this island was going to keep her in good shape. The girl sighed as she grabbed the antenna and made to place it in the tree. Her hands stilled, however, when she noticed a row of trees in the distance being knocked over as the familiar mechanical roar echoed through the jungle. She trembled, clutching at the tree and barely registering as the antenna slipped from her grasp and came tumbling towards the ground below. Her mind was too busy reeling with the knowledge that the Monster was now heading straight in Bennet's direction.

-+-+-+-

Hiro smiled as he watched Micah flip through his manga. He had been nervous at first when the blonde woman, Niki, had left her child in his hands, but the unease had quickly lifted away when Micah's eyes lit up when he noticed the volume of _JoJo's Bizarre Adventure_ he had been flipping through. He had smiled and allowed the child to borrow it along with his iPod. He didn't mind much, he still had another mint condition issue back at home and the iPod's batteries had been fully charged before they'd taken off. It still had a few hours of life left and he didn't mind sharing as long as it gave someone else a little bit of pleasure.

'What's with the kid?' Ando grumbled when he noticed Micah's presence on the beach beside him. 'I thought you didn't like children.'

Hiro blushed, squirming uncomfortably as he searched through his bag for another graphic novel to read. He could have sworn he had packed volume thirty of _Dragon Ball_ in his suitcase. 'I never said that,' the Asian man pouted.

'Then why do you always look so uncomfortable whenever you're around a kid?' his friend mumbled.

The younger man bit his lip as he turned to stare at Micah. The boy was studying the pages more than actually reading them -- all the words were in Japanese after all -- but his eyes were still sparkling with joy just to be doing something that could be considered normal.

'Children aren't so bad,' he said. 'You just have to know how to handle them.'

'Well, I'm glad to hear that, because now that you've babysat once, that blonde is going to expect you to do it again and again,' Ando warned. 'That's how it always works. You do someone a favor once and they'll take advantage of you forever.'

Hiro pouted, not liking how Ando was making him feel. In truth, he didn't really mind if Niki were to ask him to keep babysitting Micah. At least then he would have someone else to talk to.

'At least I'm helping,' Hiro muttered to himself.

'I am helping,' Ando snapped. 'I'm making us a shelter! You're just sitting around playing with a kid.'

Hiro wanted to argue that he was helping other people while Ando was only thinking about himself, but he didn't bother. Ando always knew how to twist things around and make it seem like he were the one in the wrong. He missed the old Ando. The Ando who would just sit around watching movies with him and laugh. His friend had changed so much in the last few years. He really wished he hadn't agreed to go on this trip with him.

-+-+-+-

Sylar frowned as he tied together the stalks of bamboo he had gotten from the jungle and attached them to the metal siding he'd salvaged from the wreckage. He wasn't used to working outdoors, especially not with such primitive materials, but he was a quick learner and determined not to spend another night sleeping in the sand.

"What are you doing?"

He glanced over to his side and saw a very displeased Mohinder glaring back at him. The serial killer smirked at the genetics professor. The man had been a ghost of his former self ever since he'd asked him to shoot Audrey, so for the first time, Sylar was actually glad to see anger in Mohinder's eyes. At least he was feeling something besides guilt.

"I'm making a shelter," he told him. "I managed to get tons of supplies."

The Indian man frowned, studying his partially built tent. "You're making it awfully big."

"Well it's got to have enough room for two," he shrugged, returning his attention to his task. "I've even managed to get a few seat cushions to make into a mattress. It'll be nice to sleep on something other than sand."

His words soon trailed off as he waited for Mohinder to reply or make some sort of sound in response, but nothing came. He turned back to the Indian man and saw that he suddenly looked furious. Mohinder had never looked at him that way before and it was a bit unnerving.

"What the hell makes you think we're going to be sharing a _bed_, let alone a tent?"

"Well aren't you supposed to be my shadow?" he reminded him. "That was part of our deal."

"No," Mohinder corrected, a disgusted look creeping onto his features and Sylar had to wonder just who the other man was disgusted by. "We agreed that if I kept your secret, you wouldn't kill me or anyone else on this island. And what the hell is that?"

Sylar followed Mohinder's line of sight over to the blue wheelchair he had found on the beach and was currently using to hold his supplies. "Nobody was using it," he reasoned. "And whoever it belonged to is in a better place than us."

"It's disrespectful," Mohinder snapped, marching over to the chair and removing his supplies from the seat. "It should be burned with the rest of the plane."

The serial killer shrugged as Mohinder dragged the wheelchair across the beach and back towards the plane. Mohinder was still having trouble sorting out his feeling. Sylar understood that he'd have to give the other man space, he'd just work on their shelter and wait for Mohinder to come around.

-+-+-+-

Claire bit her lip and slumped her shoulders sheepishly as she approached Mohinder. The Indian man didn't seem to be in the best mood as he dragged what looked like a beaten up blue wheelchair across the beach. She and Niki had just gotten back from the jungle and she had decided that it would be best to go see Mohinder and give him the bad news right away instead of dragging it out. Although, just looking at the scowl on his face was making the teen reconsider.

"Hey," she greeted weakly, barely managing to get the man's attention. She made sure to look apologetic as she handed him the broken antenna. "I'm sorry. I guess I should have gotten the warranty."

Her little joke didn't seem to have any effect on the man as he grasped the broken equipment in his hands. She could see the anger slowly building behind his deceptively calm demeanor. "I suppose I'll just try again," he sighed wearily. "Of course, I have no welding iron, no rivets, scorched wiring, and it seems I must continue to lie to anyone who asks me what it is I'm actually doing!" With that, the older man took the damaged antenna and threw it down on the sand.

Claire shifted uncomfortably as she witnessed the man's break down. "Hey," she whispered, trying to keep her tone as soothing as possible. "We'll try it again."

Mohinder sighed, gathering up the smashed antenna. "We'll try again," he repeated, although Claire was certain that it would take more than a few comforting words to lift the Indian man's spirits.

"You're back."

The teenager turned around and saw Peter approaching her. Claire smiled warmly at him, although the blonde girl suddenly felt like the bearer of bad news since she knew she was going to have to be the one to tell him about Bennet.

"Yeah," she shrugged, dreading what she was going to have to say to him next. "Uh, Bennet's gone. That thing, it was heading right for him. He couldn't have gotten away." The nurse fell silent as he took in this information. Claire may not have known Peter for very long, but she knew right away that he wasn't going to take this well. He'd blame himself for Bennet's death and then go running into the jungle in another attempt to get food for the starving survivors. She fidgeted as she thought of a way to change the topic. "So how's the fuselage going?"

"It's pretty much ready to be burned," he shrugged. "Simone said she wanted to lead a memorial service. I guess they're going to say a few things, read off some names."

Claire smiled secretively at the mention of the tanned woman's name. She had seen the two interacting and knew that Peter had a crush on her. It was sweet in a strange way, but she knew that Peter was far too noble to ever admit it. After all, Simone was dating Isaac and he seemed like a pretty nice guy. It wasn't the sort of relationship that Peter would want to get in the way of.

"That's good," she said. "I guess we should add Bennet's name to the list as well."

Peter nodded thoughtfully, although Claire knew he wasn't paying attention to her anymore. It was just then that she noticed as Peter's eyes widened to nearly twice their normal size when something strange caught his attention. The girl turned around and followed his line of sight. She was shocked to see Bennet, looking completely worn out and drenched with sweat, dragging a dead boar from the jungle.

-+-+-+-

The memorial service began at sun down. Simone had stood a few feet in front of the plane, smoothly reading off a list of names that she had assembled with the help of Isaac and a few other people on the beach. Niki felt a knot of sorrow well up inside of her as she clutched Micah's shoulder protectively. So many people had been killed in the crash, more than she had realized. It really made her appreciate just how fortunate she and Micah were to have survived without any serious injuries.

She shifted slightly, taking a casual glance over her shoulder to look at the boar that Bennet had caught. The man had taken it upon himself to skin and gut the pig and it was now roasting over an open fire and waiting for the hungry castaways to consume it.

The blonde woman turned to her opposite side to stare at the man in the horn-rimmed glasses, who was currently staring blankly ahead and not saying a word. No one had really thanked him for what he had done for them, and she felt that she owed it to her son to try to be nice to the man.

"Nice work," she offered, causing the middle aged man to glance down at her in confusion. "Catching the boar, I mean. Nice work with... killing it."

Bennet smiled at her, although it didn't really seem kind or even polite so much as it was condescending. "Thank you," he said, before turning his attention back to the fuselage.

Simone was now talking about an engaged couple who had been happily awaiting their wedding day until the plane crash had disrupted their plans.

"That thing," Niki began again, gaining Bennet's attention. "The Monster, or whatever, Claire said she saw it heading right for you. Did you see it?"

The man frowned, as he turned to what was left of their plane. "No."

+-+-+-+

_Bennet clenched his fists angrily as the travel agent began running his fingers through his hair nervously. He knew right away that he had unsettled the man from the second he had come through the door of his agency, but he didn't care. All he cared about was the fact that his bus would be leaving soon and he needed to get on. Yet the agent seemed intent on blocking him at all cost._

_"Mr. Bennet," the Australian man began nervously. He was trying to keep his voice as sensitive and reasonable as possible, but it only served to make Bennet even angrier. "The Walkabouts we arrange here are not just some stroll through the park. It's trekking across vast stretches of desert, rafting bloody treacherous waters-"_

_"I'm well aware of what is involved," Bennet cut in. "I've been preparing for this for years. I probably know this subject better than you."_

_The travel agent scowled at him, clearly insulted by his careless statement. "In any case," he started over tensely, "it's an extremely trying ordeal, even for someone in peek physical condition."_

_"I booked this trip months ago," he argued, trying to keep his voice as calm and even as possible and failing miserably. "You already have my money, now I demand a place on that bus!"_

_"Mr. Bennet, you blatantly misrepresented yourself-"_

_"I never lied."_

_"You failed to mention your... condition."_

_"My condition has never been a problem, he stressed. I've lived with it for four years, it's never kept me from doing anything!"_

_The Australian grew quiet, tightening his hands into fists. Bennet knew he could be rather stubborn and unreasonable when he wanted something, but he didn't really care what the travel agent thought of him right now. All he cared about was the fact that he was about to be cheated out of completing his destiny._

_"I'm sorry, but it is a problem for our insurance company," the man told him as he got up from his seat. "I can't keep the bus waiting any longer. It isn't fair to our other customers."_

_"Don't talk to me about_ fair_!" He all but screamed the words as he punched the travel agent's desk with his bare fists. Fair. What did anyone know about fair? Life had never been fair to him, not since day one._

_The Australian man fell silent as he looked at him with pity in his eyes. He hated that look. It was one he was all too familiar with. Ever since the accident, whenever someone looked at him it was either with pity or sorrow. It made him sick to his stomach. "I can get you on a plane back to Sydney on our dime," the man offered. "That's the best I can do."_

_"I've been preparing for this for years, please," he begged pathetically. "Just put me on that bus, right now. I can do this. I know I can."_

_"No, Mr. Bennet, you can't."_

_Something inside of him snapped at the man's words. Can't? No. No! He could do this. He was meant to do this! It was his destiny. "Don't tell me what I can't do!" he hollered as the man turned his back on him. Bennet clenched his teeth as he reached down and turned himself in his wheelchair, trying his best to catch up with the tour guide as he walked out the door and towards the bus waiting outside. "Hey! Get back here! Don't do this to me!"_

_Tears sprang to his eyes as he watched the man get on the bus full of would be adventurers and drive away._

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Noah watched with a happy gleam in his eyes as the painter sent fire to the fuselage, making sure to touch down on the blue wheelchair that had once been his prison. He had always known he had been meant for something, something more than a meaningless job at a paper company. He had thought he'd found it with Sandra, but now he knew better. This place, this Island had healed him, had made him whole again. _This_ was his true destiny.

*According to Lostpedia, the whole "Norman Croucher" thing is incorrect. Croucher never climbed Mt Everest.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Heroes or Lost.  
**Warnings:** AU, Violence, Action/Adventure, Drug use, Het, Slash, Crossover/Fusion

**Chapter 9**

_Peter could still remember the feeling of the punch to his face. He had been hit several times trying to defend his friend Hesam. He'd been kicked in the knee, punched in the gut and shoved straight on his rear, but for some reason it was the punch to the face that had had the greatest impact, so to speak, on him. Peter had reasoned that it was because, until that moment, he had never been hit before and the idea of been hit in his face, to watch as a fist came soaring almost out of nowhere and connected with his eye was startling._

_The boy had tried, he really had, to keep the two older children away from his friend. He had thrown a few punches and kicks himself, but the other two boys were so much bigger and stronger than he was. He could only watch as one bully pinned him to the ground while the other one continued to kick Hesam in the stomach until he started to cry._

_"Jesus, Pete," Nathan sighed, keeping his eyes on the road and not bothering to look at Peter directly. "My first trip home in_ months_ and I've gotta pick you up from school for starting a_ fight_!"_

_Peter bowed his head in shame at his older brother's words. Brothers weren't supposed to lecture you. They weren't supposed to chew you out worse than both your mom and your dad combined. Brothers were supposed to help cover up your mistakes. They were supposed to give you a secretive wink and plan out just how to keep the news of your slip out away from your parents. Peter had always wanted Nathan to be his partner in crime, to join his side in the fight against mom and dad, but Nathan was too grown up for that. The twelve year gap between the two of them was just too wide for Nathan to look at him as anything but a child._

_"I didn't start the fight," he whispered, although even before the words left his mouth, he knew they were pointless. Nathan didn't listen. Once his mind was set on a point of view it was impossible to change it._

_"Yeah, and you didn't finish it either." Peter felt a blush spread across his cheeks as Nathan slowed to a stop at a red light. His brother sighed as he reached over and grasped the beer he'd been secretly drinking all afternoon and took a long gulp. A lecture was coming. One of those long ones that made Peter wish he could close his eyes and go somewhere else just so he could escape it. "You know_ why_ I joined the Navy, Pete? Because I'm a leader. When things look rough, when a crisis hits, people can turn to me and I'll be more than ready to make a tough decision. It's been that way ever since middle school; when my friends were in a pinch, they'd come to me. Even now, when you screw up, who do you go to? Me. And even when things go wrong, I know to just shake my head and brush it off."_

_Nathan sighed as the light changed to green. He shifted his car into drive and began circling their block for the second time. Peter wished that they could just go home, but he knew that Nathan wouldn't pull into their driveway until he was finished with his speech._

_"_Don't_ act, Peter," he told him firmly. "Don't choose to be a hero, because when you fail -- and believe me, you_ will_ fail -- it will destroy you inside. Peter, you just don't have what it takes."_

+-+-+-+

Peter frowned thoughtfully down at the cooler. It felt like only yesterday that their water supply had been replenished by the all too frequent rain, now he was staring at the last eighteen bottles of fresh water. Yesterday it had been a shortage of food, now they were running low on water, and Peter istill/i hadn't spoken to Matt about their resident serial killer. Things just seemed to jump from one crisis to another on their temporary island home.

"Are you sure this is all we have left?" Peter sighed.

"Yeah," Matt said quickly, worry clear in his tone. "Eighteen bottles and forty seven people."

"People really need to stop taking whatever they want," Claire pointed out, brushing her thick blonde locks over her shoulder. "There's no way we can make this last the day."

"What do you think we should do, Peter?"

The young man stiffened uncomfortably at the other man's question. Ever since they had crashed on this island people had been turning to him for answers and it was starting to get overwhelming. He was still young, only in his mid twenties, and had never really been in charge of such a large group of people. Yet everywhere he went someone was asking for his advice or his help. It was enough to make his head spin.

"Maybe we should put someone in charge of the rest of the water," Claire suggested.

"Or hide them," Matt put in.

"Hide them? That's a bit harsh."

"Well you said so yourself, people will just keep taking whatever they want if we don't do something."

"Yeah, but hiding it will only make people edgy. Maybe we should look for some water. What do you think Peter?"

The nurse felt his stomach tighten as he listened to the other two survivors argue. He knew that whatever he said would just further enforce his position as the ide facto/i leader of the island and suddenly, he didn't really want that responsibility. The others could fend for themselves, they were all more than capable and if they truly needed someone to lead them, they could easily turn to Matt or Bennet. Both men were quite strong and competent, the perfect personification of a true leader.

Peter frowned, closing his eyes tightly against the blinding sun and shaking his head to clear away those ridiculous thoughts. What was he thinking? He couldn't just abandon his responsibility to these people. He wasn't thinking straight. He hadn't had a full night of sleep since... In all honesty he couldn't remember the last time he had slept peacefully. Things had been far too hectic in his life as of late. The plane crash, his ordeal in Australia, and the secret that he was now hiding from the group of survivors were all a constant presence in his mind. Even when he would lie down to sleep he couldn't quiet the troubled thoughts swirling around in his mind.

He was about to give Claire an honest response when a troubling image suddenly caught his eye. His skin paled and his eyes widened as he stared at the dark haired man in the black suit standing in the distance. The young nurse didn't even register his sudden movement as he found himself heading towards the figure cautiously. He couldn't have taken more than a few steps forward when the dark haired man turned away and disappeared into the jungle. His heart hammered and his throat tightened as he found himself sprinting towards the mysterious being, Claire s worried cries sounding so muffled and distant to his ears.

+-+-+-+

_"Nathan's gone," his mother clipped, but Peter didn't bother to look at her. Instead, he decided to keep his eyes focused on the New York City skyline, admiring the view. He missed this view. When he was younger he used to sneak into his father's office just so that he could stare out the window and watch the birds fly by. "Peter? Did you hear me? Your brother is_ gone._"_

_"Yeah? And what do you want me to do about it?"_

_He didn't have to look at his mother to know that she was currently sending him a cold, disapproving scowl. The young nurse sighed as he listened to her high heels clicking against the polished wooden floor. She was standing at his elbow now, willing him to turn towards her with her stern gaze alone. He was ashamed when he found himself turning to face her in spite of himself._

_"You have to go get him," she told him, her tone leaving no room for argument, but he did so anyway. Peter wouldn't let himself give into her so easily._

_"Why? Why me?"_

_"Because you owe him that much after what you did-"_

_"What_ I_ did?" he snapped, turning to glare at his mother._

_"You_ humiliated_ him Peter."_

_"I did the right thing! He's the crook. He deserved what he got."_

_The slap came so quickly that he barely had time to register the pain. The nurse gasped, cradling his assaulted cheek gently in his hands as he turned back to his mother. "He's your brother," she clipped. "You don't turn your back on family, Peter. The two of you are all I have left."_

_Peter frowned as she grasped his arm tightly in her boney hands. As much as he wanted to fight it, the guilt was starting to build inside of him, filling up his stomach and spreading throughout his entire body. Even now, it was hard to justify what he had done to Nathan. As much as he would have liked to brush off the responsibility it was still going to find him, torturing him until he did the right thing and brought his brother back home to his family._

_"Where is he?"_

_"Australia."_

+-+-+-+

His heart was pounding in his ears and his vision was starting to blur at the corners of his eyes, but he couldn't stop himself. A voice in the back of his mind told him to turn around and return to the beach, that he was dehydrated and most likely hallucinating, but something else was screaming over that voice, saying that he had to follow his vision. Even if he wanted to he couldn't stop chasing the suited man.

The nurse panted, as he slowed down, resting his heated body heavily against a thin tree. Sweat was pouring down his face and his legs felt like rubber, but he'd found him. The suited man was just a few inches away. His back was turned towards him as he stood stock still, as if he were studying some important work of art instead of a tangle of bushes and trees. If only he could just reach over and touch him.

Pushing himself off of the plant, Peter willed his wobbling legs to carry him over to the figure's broad back. He reached towards him, his hands trembling, only to have the man slowly turn around.

Peter's heart came to a crashing halt and his insides turned to ice as the man turned to face him, an eerily peaceful smile spread across his strong face and a far off look shining in his deep brown eyes. The nurse barely registered as his legs gave out under his weight and he quickly sank down to the hard ground below.

"Na... Nathan?"

"So do you have any tea?"

Claude scowled as he looked up to see the pale young man with the thick black eyebrows staring down at him. When he had first started collecting goods along the beach, he had expected the other crash survivors to start eying his stash, but Eyebrows was the last person he would have thought would ask him for anything. His scowl quickly turned into a smug smirk as he turned his eyes back towards his book. It was certainly pleasant to know he had this sort of influence on people.

"Tea?" he repeated.

"Yeah, tea. Bags? Leaves? Anything like that?"

"An' why would you want tea?"

Claude could practically feel the young man's look darken as he calmly flipped the page in his book. Eyebrows was probably used to people doing whatever he wanted when he pinned them with his fierce looks, but the British man was not someone who could be intimidated so easily.

"It's not for _me_."

The Brit laughed as understanding finally dawned on him. "I see," he chuckled. "For _him_, huh? How long you two been together?"

He watched as Eyebrows visibly stiffened with discomfort, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. "It's... We're not like that."

"Sure seems that way ta me," he smirked. "Tell ya what, catch me a fish, and I'll give ya your tea."

"A fish?" he repeated skeptically. "Couldn't you do that yourself?"

Claude nodded slowly. "I could," he agreed. "But then ya wouldn't have any tea, now would ya?"

-+-+-+-

"So we're running out of water and Peter decides to have an episode," Matt grumbled, shaking his head miserably.

It was just his luck to be stuck on a deserted island with a group of emotionally damaged weirdoes. The Indian man, Mohinder, had been a hollow shell of himself ever since the blonde marshal s death and his creepy boyfriend wasn't exactly someone you'd want to turn to in a crisis. The two Asian men had been doing their best to stay out of sight ever since they'd crashed. Niki's only focus right now was Micah, and although Matt couldn't really blame the woman for being focused on taking care of her son, he knew from Claire's recount of the boar incident that she'd be useless in the jungle.

With Peter now running around in the jungle like a chicken with his head cut off, it looked like the only ones left to take charge was him and a sixteen year old girl. Once again, life found a way to kick him while he was still down.

"Well it's not like Peter would have been much help right now, anyway," Claire pointed out. "He's a nurse, I doubt he'd know the first thing about finding fresh water on a tropical jungle."

Matt sighed, scratching at his short hair thoughtfully. "You're right," he grumbled. "But who would know anything about that?"

Claire smiled as she nodded over towards the tall man in the horn-rimmed glasses, currently staring out at the ocean, a far too serene look in his eyes. The police officer cringed at the very sight. There was something about Bennet that just made him uneasy. His calm attitude and polite smiles felt more smug and belittling to Matt and the last thing he wanted to do was ask him for help.

"Bennet?" he asked skeptically. "You sure?"

"He caught a boar all by himself," she reminded him, "and he really seems to know his way around the jungle. If anybody can help us, it'd be him."

"And how exactly are you going to get him to do it?"

The blond girl craned her head up and fixed him with her brightest smile. "I'll just ask him nicely."

-+-+-+-

"Fish?" Sylar stressed, trying his best to say the word as loudly and clearly as possible. Yet there were only so many times one man could repeat a word before his nerves started to run thin. He needed a fish, to get some tea bags to give to Mohinder. The fugitive was sick of his companion's moopy attitude and was hoping that a small bit of normalcy would help to lift his spirits and since the Indian man had been less than thrilled by his attempt to build them a shelter, Sylar decided it was time to try something a little less forward. "Fish!" he said again, thrusting his hand towards the clear blue ocean. "Can _you_ get _me_ fish?"

The Asian man frowned looking between him and the water before understanding finally dawned on him. Sylar had watched the man and his four eyed companion. He had seen the slightly taller one catching fish with little effort and he knew that if there was anyone who could help him with his task it would be him. The Japanese man nodded slowly, a thoughtful look on his face as if he were slowly processing something. After a while he started to ramble something off in his native tongue and Sylar quickly found himself at a loss.

"What?"

The Asian sighed, running his hands over his face in frustration. He spoke again, this time much slower and pointing at his thin lips.

Sylar stiffened, hoping that he had misunderstood the shorter man's gesture. "You want me to kiss you?"

The Japanese man rolled his eyes in annoyance, pointing at the sun and then pointing back at his lips. Sun...? Lips...?

"You want lip balm?" He nodded. "For the fish?" He nodded again.

Wonderful.

-+-+-+-

After six days of being stuck on the island, Claire still knew next to nothing about Bennet. A part of her felt a bit ashamed by that knowledge, she wanted to make an effort to get to know everyone, and after her failed attempt to hunt boar she couldn't help feeling worse. She'd originally gone into jungle hoping to attach Mohinder's antenna, but now she realized she should have at least made an effort to get closer to Bennet.

"Do you know anything about finding water?"

Bennet gave her a pleasant smile as he gazed down curiously at the blonde girl. "What?"

She laughed nervously, brushing her blonde hair out of her eyes. "Well, we're running low on fresh water," she explained, "and, who knows how long it'll be until it rains again."

"So you want me to find some water?" he concluded, his smile widening a bit.

"Well, uh," she fumbled nervously. She didn't want to make it seem like she was using him. "We could go look for the water _together_," she offered. "I mean, I feel really bad for bailing on you the other day."

He laughed, patting her shoulder reassuringly. "That's alright. You were right. Niki was hurt and needed to go back. You're a brave young woman, Claire. Your must parents be proud of you." Claire laughed awkwardly as the tall man adjusted his glasses. "Well, uh, my mom always liked to call me a genius," she joked, rubbing her arms sheepishly. "But I'm just a cheerleader."

"Cheerleader?" he repeated. "I wouldn't have expected that. What about your dad?"

"Never met him," she admitted quietly the same, empty feeling she always got when she thought of her absent father spreading through her.

He nodded thoughtfully, noticing at last that he was making her uncomfortable. "Well, I suppose we should get moving while the sun's still up."

-+-+-+-

"What makes you think I have lip balm?" Niki asked testily, brushing a long strand of hair out of her face. "Because I'm a woman?"

"Yeah, because you're a woman," Gabriel snapped, glaring at her as she knelt down next to an abandoned suit case. "And only a woman would want to stop her lips from cracking and bleeding in this intense heat."

The blonde rolled her eyes at Gabriel's snide tone. "Okay, I guess I deserved that," she sighed, riffling through the bag. She had been searching for a hair brush for days, but hadn't found one. No brushes, no combs. You would think that every woman would pack a brush! Needless to say, her hopeless search was starting to make her a little testy. "Why do you need lip balm anyway?"

"I need it to catch a fish."

Niki frowned, pinning the pale man with a quizzical look. "Who the hell taught _you_ to fish?"

His look darkened as he bent down closer to her. "Do you have the lip balm or don't you?"

The woman smiled as a light bulb went on in her head. "Do you think you could find me a brush?"

Gabriel cocked his head at her question. "A brush?"

"Or a comb."

"For the lip balm?"

She nodded.

-+-+-+-

Peter felt like his head was buzzing as he continued to stumble through the jungle. His limbs dangled from his side like limp noodles and his chest was burning. He didn't know where he was going or what he was looking for anymore. All he knew was that he had to keep going.

What he'd seen... It couldn't have been real. Nathan. His brother. Walking around in the middle of the jungle. It couldn't be! This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be real.

His throat burned and his whole body felt like it was melting. He slumped against a tree as he tried to process what was going on. The beach. He had to get back to the beach. The others needed him. They were out of water, running low on food, and there was a wanted fugitive wandering around among them. And where was he when all this was happening? Running around the jungle having a nervous breakdown.

A bitter laugh suddenly came bubbling out of him as he slid down to rest in the dirt. It looked like Nathan was right after all. He really didn't have what it takes.

It was only then that the sound of twigs snapping and leaves rustling caught his attention. His eyes snapped open to reveal the suited figure smiling down at him. His body tingled as he scrambled to lift himself back onto his own two feet. "N-Nathan?" he gasped.

The dark haired man's smile widened as he stepped backward, slowly disappearing into the jungle again.

"Nathan wait!" Peter cried as he stumbled forward, pushing past low branches and thick bushes. He couldn't have taken more than a few steps forward before he found himself staring at a deep cavern and tumbling forward.


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Heroes or Lost.  
**Warnings:** AU, Violence, Action/Adventure, Drug use, Het, Slash, Crossover/Fusion

**Chapter 10**

_Peter frowned as he nudged the tipped over chair with his foot. The hotel room had once been a luxury suit, with top of the line amenities and designer d cor, but the guest who had been staying here had turned it into a slum in no time flat. The bed wasn't just unmade, the sheets were torn off and thrown on the floor. Empty bottles, once containing a wide variety of alcoholic beverages, and prescription drug containers were spread across the floor and furniture. Peter had always known his brother had had is demons, but he wouldn't have guessed it was this serious._

_"The maid says he hadn't used the bed in the past three days," the hotel manager informed him. The young nurse watched as the Australian pressed a button to open the blinds, flooding the room with light and making the shabby condition that much clearer._

_"Did he rent a car from the concierge?"_

_"No sir," he informed him politely. "To be honest, Mr. Petrelli, I doubt your brother rented a car at all."_

_Peter turned to study the other man's expression. The manager shuffled awkwardly, trying his best to maintain his formal attitude, but Peter could see the concern lurking behind his eyes. "What do you mean?"_

_"I'm sorry sir," he whispered regretfully, "I shouldn't-"_

_"What does renting a car have to do with anything?" the nurse cut in._

_"There was an incident in the hotel bar a few nights ago," the Australian explained. "Your brother got into a fight... I had to have security escort him back to his room."_

_"What does that have to do with renting a car?" he repeated, not seeing where the man was going with this._

_"Mr. Petrelli," he began. "I don't think any rental agent in Sydney would lease your father a car in his condition."_

_"My brother is a_ Senator_," he told him, although the words sounded hollow even to his own ears. The title didn't really mean anything anymore, not after the incident._

_"Of course, sir," the manager whispered regretfully. "I apologize."_

_A knot of worry began to form in the pit of the young nurse's stomach as he continued to study the room carefully, his eyes suddenly falling on the bedside table. His breath caught in his throat as he pulled the drawer open, revealing even more empty pill containers and an expensive leather wallet._

_"He left his wallet." His eyes widened as his flipped the wallet open. Bills, credit cards, identification... all still in place. He hadn't taken anything with him. "Who leaves their wallet?"_

_"I think you need to speak with the police, sir."_

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Judging from his elevation and the jagged rocks waiting just a few feet below to greet him, Peter knew right away that the fall wouldn't be enough to kill him. He'd break his bones and suffer a concussion, but he wouldn't die right away. He would probably starve to death first, spending a few days in agony, waiting in vain for someone to find him.

The young man grunted, tightening his grip on the vines as he struggled to lift himself. He couldn't get a foot hold and his arms and legs were worn out from wandering around in the jungle. It wouldn't be much longer before he slipped and fell.

As soon as that thought came to him, a hand suddenly appeared less than a foot above him. His brown eyes widen as he watches as Bennet appeared in front of him, reaching out as far as he could without risking falling himself.

"Take my hand," he ordered.

Peter smiled, more than happy to do as he was instructed.

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"Do you have any lip balm?"

Simone frowned as she gazed up at Gabriel quizzically. It was the first time the tall man had said a word to her and she was startled to say the least that this was the first question he'd ask her. "Uh, sorry no," she shrugged.

He cursed under his breath. She could tell from the slight shag in his shoulders and the way his brows continued to knit together that the man's patience was quickly wearing thin. Simone had seen him running up and down the beach, pulling people aside in search of something, and the tanned woman couldn't help feeling a bit sorry for him. "Well do you at least have a brush?"

"No."

"A comb?"

"Don't give him anything," Isaac grumbled, tapping his fingers impatiently against the sketchbook he had managed to find in their luggage. Her boyfriend hadn't drawn so much as a stick figure since they'd landed. Not that she could blame him. In spite of the lovely ocean view and the way time seemed to stretch on endlessly at their finger tips, there wasn't really much worth drawing. "Ignore him and maybe he'll go away."

"I'm right here," Gabriel snapped. "I can hear everything you're saying."

"Yet you're still here," the artist muttered and Simone had to suppress a soft laugh.

"Look, if you have a comb, it d be _great_ if you could let me borrow it."

"Why do you even need a comb?" Isaac snapped, studying the other man's short black hair. "You don't really have much need for it."

Gabriel scowled, gritting his teeth and crossing his arms dangerously. "I need that comb," he began slowly, "to get some lip balm, to get a fish, to get some _tea_ to give to Mohinder."

The young woman felt her eyes soften at the man's words. "For your boyfriend?" she whispered. "You're going through all this trouble just for him? That's so sweet." Her look quickly hardened as she turned her attention towards Isaac. "You could learn something from him, Isaac," she snapped, causing her artist lover to blush and bow his head sheepishly. "I have a comb you can borrow, Gabriel."

-+-+-+-

Peter smiled weakly as Claire handed him a bottle of water. He remembered their conversation this morning, how their supply was quickly running out, and the young nurse couldn't help but feel guilty as he took light sips from the plastic bottle.

"You okay?" Claire asked as he handed the bottle back to her.

"Yeah," he lied. "I'm okay. How are the others?"

"Thirsty," Bennet answered. "Hungry. Waiting to be rescued. And they need somebody to tell them what to do." He watched as Bennet focused all of his attention on trying to collect a few drops of water that had gathered on a rather large leaf. From the looks of it, he and Claire hadn't managed to collect much if anything. They were all in big trouble.

The young nurse bowed his head shamefully, studying the ground as if it held the answers to all his problems. "Well I hope they find someone," he mumbled, picking at a blade of grass idly.

"What about you?" Claire asked, sitting down next to him. "You're a great leader."

"I'm a _terrible_ leader," he scoffed. "I don't have what it takes."

The trio fell silent and Peter focused on calming his still rapid heart beat and mutilating the defenseless grass. Claire sat quietly beside him, her bright green eyes shining with tender sympathy.

"Why are you out here, Peter?" Bennet asked, breaking the silence.

Peter laughed bitterly as he raised his head to meet the taller man's gaze. "I think I'm going crazy," he admitted.

The teenager stiffened as Bennet calmly sat down across from him, not at all fazed by his admission. "No," the older man assured him. "You're not going crazy. Crazy people don't know they're going crazy. They think they're getting sane. So why are you really out here?"

He sighed, sitting up straighter and brushing his hair out of his eyes. "I'm chasing something," he explained. "Someone."

Bennet laughed his thin smile fond and a bit condescending in Peter's eyes. "Ah, the white rabbit," he mused. "Alice in Wonderland."

Peter chuckled, shaking his head slowly. "Yeah, wonderland. Cause who I'm chasing isn't there."

"But... you see him?" Claire asked carefully.

"Yeah, but he's not there."

"Well what if I came to you and said the same thing, Peter?" Bennet pushed. "As a nurse, what would you say to that?"

"I'd say it was a hallucination," he told him. "A result of dehydration, post traumatic stress, and not getting more than two hours of sleep a night for the past week."

Claire raised a worried eyebrow at him, shocked by his sudden admission. Clearly the teenager hadn't been aware of the fact that he wasn't exactly taking good care of himself. Tending to others had always come naturally to Peter. Looking after himself was the hard part.

"Well what if you're not hallucinating?" Bennet asked. "What if this person you're seeing is real?"

The nurse laughed, not at all following where Bennet's line of questioning was supposed to be leading him. "Well then I guess I'm in pretty big trouble," he joked, although he could faintly feel the tears well up in his eyes even as he spoke the words.

"I'm an ordinary man, Peter," Bennet began shifting himself so that he was a few inches closer to the young nurse, "I live in the real world. I'm not a big believer in magic. But this place is different. It's special. The others don't want to talk about it because it scares them, but we all know it. We all feel it. Is your white rabbit a hallucination? Probably. But what if everything that happened here, happened for a reason? What if this person that you're chasing is really here? "

"That's impossible," he whispered. He didn't want to believe that any of this could be real. He wouldn't allow himself to entertain such a possibility for even a second.

"Even if it is, let's say it's not?"

Peter had to marvel at the fact that there wasn't a trace of frustration in Bennet's tone. He frowned, shaking his head slowly. "What happens when I catch him?"

The man smiled kindly, leaning forward as if it were just the two of them in the entire world and for a moment, Peter felt scared. "I don't know," he said honestly, his voice never wavering, "but I have looked into the _eye_ of this island... and what I saw was beautiful."

The nurse felt his breath coming out in quivering huffs as he continued to gaze up at Bennet. The ground beneath him suddenly felt loose and unstable as his vision blurred and the whole world started to tip on its side. Either Bennet had gone completely insane or what he was saying was actually true. Either option left Peter with a feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach.

"Let's go Claire," Bennet said casually as he lifted himself to his feet.

The blonde teen gapped at him curiously, still trying to process his words herself as she stood on unsteady legs. "Wh-what about Peter?"

The young nurse started to rise to his feet, but Bennet waved him off with a casual shrug. "No, you need to stay," he told him. "You need to finish what you started."

"Whu... why?" he babbled.

"Because a leader can't lead until he knows what he's looking for." With that said, the tall man with the horn-rimmed glasses disappeared into the jungle. Claire stayed behind for a few seconds longer, her eyes wide with worry before she finally followed the other man to continue their search for water.

+-+-+-+

_Peter felt sick. His legs trembled with every step he took down the long white hall way. He could barely hear the other man's words over the sound of his own heart beating in his ears. He didn't want to be here. He wanted to be anywhere else, anywhere in the world, instead of in this building at this moment._

_"The police found him in an alley in Queens Cross," the medical examiner informed him. Peter nodded along, but his throat was so tight that the gesture felt awkward. He wished the other man wasn't being so cold. He recited his diagnosis with such an unfeeling air that even Peter felt his insides go numb as he listened. "Now, a tox screen showed a blood alcohol content, which for a man of his size, probably brought on myocardial infarction - a sizable, and fatal heart-attack."_

_"I... I understand," Peter whispered pathetically. "I'm a nurse."_

_The examiner nodded quickly, glancing over at Peter with pity in his eyes as they turned towards a large white door. The man opened it quickly and Peter suddenly felt reluctant to follow him inside. He knew that once he stepped through, everything would change. He swallowed against the growing dismay building up inside of him, but the lump in his throat made it nearly possible._

_"Mr. Petrelli?" the man began a worried look on his face._

_Peter didn't reply as he silently stepped into the morgue and held his breath as the medical examiner approached the gurney lying in the center of the room. Tears instantly sprang into the young man's wide brown eyes as the blanket that had once been covering the corpse was quickly pulled away in one swift movement. His stomach lurched as he gazed into his brother's now lifeless eyes._

_"Is this him?" the man asked gently._

_"Yes," Peter gasped, his knees finally giving out as he collapsed to the floor in tears. "Yes! That's him."_

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The nurse sniffled as he rubbed away the tears streaming down his cheeks. He hadn't moved from the spot where he'd conversed with Bennet and Claire, too lost and afraid to go on. Night had fallen quickly, and he'd gathered what he could to build a small fire, yet he still did not know what to do next. As insane as his words had been, he knew that Bennet was right; he couldn't go back to the beach until he finished chasing the mysterious figure, but he was still reluctant to do so.

What would happen if he caught the white rabbit? What would it prove? No matter what the answer, his brother would still be gone. Dead is dead.

But this vision, this sighting, it meant something. He knew it in his heart that something important was waiting for him in the jungle.

Peter stiffened as he rubbed at his bare arms furiously. He hadn't seen the suited figure since he'd almost fallen off the cliff, and he was starting to think he'd never see it again. Sleep was pulling at his mind and he suddenly wanted nothing more than to go back to the beach and try to get some rest.

He was just about to get up to leave when suddenly a crash came from deep in the jungle. He flinched, turning around to inspect the sound, only to find nothing. Another crash soon came, followed by chimes and the sound of branches snapping. His eyes widened as he grabbed a torch from the fire.

The young man wandered through the woods, stumbling blindly over rocks and broken branches in the darkness. His mind told him to stop, but his legs continued to carry him forward. Something was out there, waiting for him in the heart of the jungle. His breath caught in his throat as the sound of rushing water suddenly greeted his ears. Pushing back a few low branches, he was shocked to see a small section of the plane, resting tangled between some trees and right next to a small spring. Water. Fresh water.

This must have been what he was meant to find. It was a bit disappointing to say the least, but now he could go back to the camp and tell everyone the good news. Fortune had smiled on them once more.

The nurse was about to turn back when he noticed something in the corner of his eyes. The section of the plane that had fallen here must have been where the majority of the luggage had been. There were suit cases, clothes, toys, and other goods scattered all over the jungle floor. Yet that wasn't what intrigued him.

+-+-+-+

_Peter scowled as the young brunette typed away at her small keyboard. His flight would be boarding soon. He had to be in Los Angeles in sixteen hours. Yet he was stuck here in Sydney because the airline would not allow him to check his brother's casket._

_"I'm sorry Mr. Petrelli," the young woman began, sympathy shining in her wide eyes, "but our policy is that the body must have the proper documentation. There's just no latitude."_

_"'No latitude?'" he repeated, too weary to even contemplate the concept of sympathy._

_"Without the proper documents," she began, but he quickly cut her off._

_"You can't do this to me," he urged. His hands were practically shaking. He hadn't had a bite to eat or a full night s sleep in days. "I'm ready to go now."_

_The woman frowned, quickly losing her patience with the young man. "Perhaps another carrier," she suggested._

_"_No!_" Peter cringed as his words echoed throughout the airport. He could practically feel the eyes of everyone within hearing distance glaring at him as he leaned over the desk to get a better look at the woman's name tag. "I'm asking you a favor, Rachel." He took a deep breath, running an unsteady hand through his dark brown hair. "I'm standing in front of you in the same suit that I'm wearing to my brother's funeral and I'm asking you a favor. In sixteen hours I need to land at LAX so I can board_ another_ plane to JFX and I need that coffin to clear customs because there's going to be a hearse waiting there. And I need that hearse to take me and that coffin to a cemetery. And I know what you're wondering. You're wondering why can't I just bring him to a funeral home and make all the arrangements. Why can't I really take my time with it? Because..." He paused, his throat tightening up once more as he wiped furiously at the tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. "Because I need it to be done. I need it to be over. I just... I need to bury my brother."_

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His heart was beating to rapidly that he could practically feel it in his _feet_. His mouth was dry as a bone and his hands trembled as he gazed down at the dark brown coffin that he had purchased for Nathan. The memory of his fight with the young woman at the airport was still fresh in his mind and it pained him just to look at the box that now carried his brother's dead body.

Yet in spite of the remorseful feelings welling up inside of him, Peter could still feel some invisible force urging him towards the casket, willing him to open it and take a look at the grim contents that rested inside. The young man swallowed past the emotions growing in his throat as he bent down and placed his thin hands on the surprisingly cool wooden surface.

He held his breath, wrapping his fingers around the lid and lifting it on one quick jerk.

His heart stopped, his breath left his body in one long gust, and his legs turned into rubbed as he collapsed to the ground in a fit of tears.

The casket was empty.

-+-+-+-

It must have been at least twelve o'clock in the morning when Peter finally returned to the beach. Claire breathed a deep sigh of relief as she rushed over to the young man and wrapped her arms tightly around him.

"You're alive!" she gasped. "I was so worried about you. I thought you were dead!"

Peter quietly laughed at her words, but there was no real feeling behind it. Something about the young nurse seemed so empty, hollow, as if he had lost something out there.

"Peter!" Matt called, approaching them from the beach. Apparently Claire wasn't the only one who couldn't sleep that night. "Where have you been? You were gone all day."

A small smile crept onto Peter's features, but it didn't quite meet his eyes. He placed a tired hand on Claire's shoulders and she suddenly wished she hadn't listened to Bennet and had stayed with Peter instead. "I was looking for something," he began quietly, "in the jungle. I wander around... I could have been killed. And I realized something; if I had died, everyone would have been screwed. There'd be no one left with medical training. Then what? I can't go around chasing white rabbits anymore. This whole 'every man for himself attitude'... it has to stop. If we don't all start living together, we're going to die alone."

Claire smiled, tightening her hold on Peter's middle. It was the first reasonable thing she'd heard all day.

-+-+-+-

'Here. I got this for you.'

Hiro squinted up at his friend as he continued to rub the sleep from his eye. He had spent the last few days reading his manga and listening to music while Ando fished. He never would have guessed that being stranded on a deserted island could be so mundane. It was nothing like in the movies.

'What's this?' he asked skeptically as he inspected the small plastic tube his friend was handing him.

'It's chap stick,' Ando told him. He rolled his eyes in irritation and tossed the lip balm at his friend. 'Your lips look terrible. You need to drink more water.'

Hiro blushed sheepishly as he clutched the chap stick in his hand. Only Ando could do something thoughtful and belittle him at the same time. 'There isn't much water left,' he pointed out, uncapping the lip balm and getting ready to apply it.

'The nurse found some fresh water in the jungle,' Ando told him. 'There will be more water soon. I'll go get you a bottle.'

With that said Ando turned around and left. It was only after his friend had disappeared that Hiro began to wonder how exactly Ando could have known that the nurse had found water.

-+-+-+-

Mohinder frowned and rolled onto his side when he heard the approaching footsteps. He instantly knew who it was. There was only one person on the island who was constantly bothering him and trying to get his attention. Ever since Mohinder had declared that he would not share the tent with Sylar the serial killer has been trying to butter him up. Mohinder didn't really see any point in the other man doing "nice things" for him. No gesture would be enough to make Mohinder forget about their deal and _not _turn Sylar in once they were off the island.

"Wake up," Sylar ordered. "I brought you some tea."

The geneticist scowled at his words. "Tea?" he repeated. "From where?"

"The scruffy looking British guy."

Mohinder's frown deepened as he turned on his back to look up at Sylar, shielding his eyes from the rising sun. The taller man was standing above him, holding two small cups in his hands. "This is really sad," the Indian man scoffed, shifting himself into a sitting position.

"What's sad?" he asked innocently as he sat down carefully on the sand, mindful not to spill even a drop of tea. "Trying to do something nice for someone who doesn't even have the decency to say 'thank you'?"

"You're not being nice, you're being manipulative," Mohinder pointed out. "You can't get on my good side just by bringing me food, making me shelters, and beating people up for me."

Sylar's face remained neutral as he placed one of the cups in Mohinder's hands. "I'm not going to jail," he told him flatly. "We're not getting off this island. I'm just trying to make our lives here a bit more pleasant. So just drink your tea and be grateful you have someone to take care of you. Sorry it's not hot."

"What a shame," Mohinder snapped. As soon as the words left his lips he dumped the tea on Sylar's head. "I'm getting us off of this island!" the geneticist growled as he lifted himself off of the ground, making sure to kick up as much sand as he could. "And I can take care of my own damn self!"


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Heroes or Lost.  
**Warnings:** AU, Violence, Action/Adventure, Drug use, Het, Slash, Crossover/Fusion

**Chapter 11**

Isaac sighed as he stuffed a few more plastic bottles into his backpack. Yesterday, while running in circles through the jungle of death, Peter had stumbled across some fresh water. The next morning he had asked if anyone wanted to come along to collect. The artist had been more than a bit stunned when Simone volunteered to go along.

"I've never been in the jungle before," Simone had argued, "and I wanna help out. Besides, you've gone on like two treks already. I need to catch up."

Needless to say, Isaac instantly volunteered to come with them. Even though Bennet was planning to help lead the group through the jungle, Isaac still didn't like the idea of Simone spending any time with Peter. He had seen the way the young nurse looked at his girlfriend and he knew that the other man was just waiting to make his move, but Isaac wouldn't let that happen.

"Mista Isaac?"

The artist frowned as he looked up to see one of the Asian men standing next to him. The man was nearly a full head shorter than him and wore a pair of wire thin glasses over his round face. He felt his frown melt away into a smile when he noticed that the shorter man was clutching a copy of his graphic novel in his hands. Many of his fans had been displeased when he had decided to write and draw the 9th Wonders graphic novel, even Simone had warned him that he'd be alienating his fan base and encouraging the wrath of critics, but Isaac didn't care. As a child, he had loved reading comic books. He would spend many hours sitting in his room and copying the pictures, teaching himself how to draw perspectives and motion. The comic book might not have drawn in a lot of money, but it was very personal project to him and he was proud to have the small cult following that it had given him.

"You speak English?" Isaac asked, standing up so that he could get a better look at the little man. Now that he was paying more attention, he could see that Asian was probably several years younger than him. He looked like he was fresh out of college.

The Asian's smile faltered as he tilted his head to the side. Isaac recognized the confusion in his gaze right away. It was a look he was very familiar with. His grandparents had never learned to speak English and had to struggle most of their lives to get by in America, usually by having their children and friends translate for them. He felt a wave of sympathy build up inside of him as the Asian man produced a pen from out of his pocket and pointed it at him.

"Sign?" he asked carefully.

Isaac laughed as he took the pen and book. Who would have guessed he'd have fan right here on the island? "Sure thing. Who do I make it out to?" Isaac blushed in embarrassment. The poor kid probably had no idea what he'd just said. "Uh... Name?" he asked, making sure that he pronounced the word as clearly as possible.

The Asian man smiled, pushing his glasses up against his nose. "Hiro," he told him proudly.

Isaac smiled as he wrote out a short message on the inside cover. He hoped Hiro knew someone who could read English so they would translate it for him. He capped the pen, carefully reading over what he had written. The artist had signed many autographs in the past and had been embarrassed by the small mistakes he had made. Satisfied, he was about to hand the book and pen back to Hiro, when a fist suddenly came out of nowhere and sent him stumbling into the hot sand below.

-+-+-+-

Hiro stiffened in horror when he saw Ando punch Isaac Mendez in the face. The wild look in his friend's eyes chilled him to the core and he found himself completely frozen in place as he watched Ando continue to punch the artist, sending blood and sand flying everywhere.

'Ando-kun!' he shouted, finally finding his voice once one of the women on the beach started screaming. 'Ando-kun! What are you doing?'

The Japanese man felt his eyes widen in shock when the Indian came rushing towards Ando and tackled him to the ground. The scary looking man who had watched him search for his luggage came running close behind him, grabbing Isaac by his arms and lifting him off of the ground.

The nurse and a few others came rushing towards them a few seconds later. The Indian held Ando tightly as his friend thrashed and struggled to get free. They all took turns shouting at him, before the man with the scary eyebrows appeared and placed Ando in handcuffs, dragging him off of the beach.

Hiro stared after them, his mind buzzing and his legs feeling like lead. He glanced down at his autographed copy of 9th Wonder. It was currently resting forgotten in the sand next to his pen and a few drops of blood.

He couldn't help but wonder when his friend had turned into such a violent monster.

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_Hiro smiled up at Ando as he placed a bottle of beer in front of him. The music of the karaoke bar was loud, but Hiro and Ando were sitting far enough away from the stage that they could hear each other speaking without shouting. Ando only had one beer in him so far, but Hiro was hoping his friend would have at least three more. It always took four beers before Ando would be drunk enough to actually partake in the karaoke. Hiro's fingers were itching to get a hold of the song book. He wanted to pick out something fast and upbeat for Ando to sing. Those songs were the most fun to try while you were drunk._

_'I got fired today.'_

_Hiro blinked, studying his friend's morose face carefully. 'Fired?' he repeated, worry clear in his voice. 'Why?'_

_This was the second job Ando had lost in less than a month. He needed the money. His parents had cut him off a long time ago, and for some reason, Ando refused to move in with him. He claimed it would seem 'too weird,' but Hiro couldn't see what would be so strange about two friends living together._

_'Because my boss was a total jerk,' Ando snorted bitterly. 'I come in late a few times, and he flips out at me!'_

_Hiro frowned, shaking his head remorsefully at his friend's comments. Ando had always been the more realistic of the two, but he was never able to take his work very seriously. Ever since they had hit puberty and Ando had discovered girls, he spent most of his free time (and time when he should be working) day dreaming about women or visiting adult websites. Hiro didn't doubt that his friend was probably tardy for work because he slept in late after spending the night chatting with women in foreign countries._

_'Yamagato is looking for people,' Hiro offered._

_Ando scoffed as he took a sip of his beer. 'Your dad's company? No way! Do I look like the kind of guy who would work in a cubicle?'_

_'Do _I_?' he shot back. It was still strange to think of themselves as grown men who needed jobs and drank beer at karaoke bars to relieve stress, yet here they were. They were too old to be reckless and too young to really be settled down. At least Hiro thought so. His father was already pushing him to get married, but it just seemed too soon. He was only in his mid-twenties. He wasn't ready for a wife just yet. 'Father likes you. You've always kept me out of trouble. He'll give you a job if you just ask.'_

_His friend frowned thoughtfully, playing with his now empty bottle of beer and weighing his options carefully. Hiro already knew that he didn't have many. Besides, he wasn't lying when he said his father liked Ando. The man had compared the two in the past and Hiro always found himself falling short to his friend. He had a feeling his father would probably even give Ando a higher position in the company than him._

_'I suppose I could go in for an interview,' Ando shrugged._

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"What happened?"

The Hispanic artist scowled bitterly at Matt as Peter gently touched his cheek, studying his broken and bruised flesh. "Why are you asking me?" Isaac snapped. "I was the one who was attacked remember? He jumped me!"

Matt sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. He could understand the other man's frustration, the victim always had a tendency to be defensive when questioned. "I'm not accusing you," Matt reminded him. "I just want to know if you remember doing _anything_ that might have provoked him into attacking you."

"What did _I_ do?" he barked. "Nothing! I've never even _talked_ to this guy before! I was just minding my own business when his friend came up to _me_ and then the next thing I know, this guy is wailing on me! So why don't you go talk to _him_?"

"Calm down, baby," Simone whispered tenderly, placing a gentle hand on her boyfriend's shoulder.

"I'm afraid that won't be possible," Mohinder sighed, glancing over his shoulder to watch their prisoner. The Asian man was currently handcuffed to a rather large piece of the wreckage, struggling to free himself while his worried friend whispered something into his ear. "He doesn't speak English."

"And he's a lost smaller than you," Gabriel pointed out, a smug smirk spreading across his face.

"He's right," Claude chuckled. "For such a little guy, he sure did a number on ya."

Isaac's scowl deepened as his face quickly turned bright red. The artist clutched at his swollen cheek indigently as he shooed Peter's careful hands away. "He caught me off guard," the young man grumbled bitterly, yet that did nothing to stop Gabriel and Claude from laughing at his misfortune.

"Real sensitive," Simone snapped, tightening her grip on Isaac's shoulder. "Don't you two have anything better to do than laugh at people?"

"This is our seventh day stuck on a deserted island," Claude pointed out. "Not much entertainment 'round here."

Without warning, Isaac suddenly sprang to his feet. He hunched his shoulders and lowered his eyes to the sand as he retreated back to the beach and away from the small crowd. Simone soon followed after him, calling his name and asking if he was alright.

Matt sighed, scratching the back of his head idly. As usual, nothing was getting resolved. "We can't leave him chained up like that all day," he pointed out.

"We can't let him out either," Mohinder countered. "We can't risk him possibly attacking Isaac again."

"Well Isaac and I are going into the jungle to get water," Peter announced. "You two can deal with him however you want. Maybe try talking to his friend?"

"Doubt he speaks English either, pup," Claude pointed out causing the nurse to glare at him bitterly.

"Well we still need to figure out why he attacked Isaac before we let him go," Matt stressed. He was getting really sick of being brushed off by the others. They acted as if he were unimportant just because he hadn't been foolish enough to go wandering around in the jungle or underhanded enough to go rummaging through the fuselage for goods. He was a cop. He could contribute. He wasn't just going to sit around and watch while a nurse and a college professor took charge of the island. "Now, does anyone have the keys to the cuffs?"

Gabriel shrugged casually. "I don't," he said.

"I do," Mohinder admitted. "I'll hold onto them until we know for certain he's not going to attack anyone again."

Matt nodded, yet he couldn't help wondering why Gabriel would be carrying the marshal's handcuffs if Mohinder had the key.

-+-+-+-

'You could have helped me back there,' Ando grumbled, pulling at his restraints, trying to see how strong the metal bar they were attached to was. It wouldn't budge or bend no matter how hard Ando tugged, and Hiro had a feeling that his friend would be staying out in the hot sun all day if he kept up his attitude. 'I was trying to help you, but you didn't even _try_ to defend me.'

'I was surprised,' Hiro admitted. 'Why did you attack Isaac-san anyway?' The young man chewed his lip thoughtfully as he broke apart a small piece of aloe he had found growing in the jungle. His mother had been very fond of plants and she had taught him all about different kinds of plant life as a child. Most of those lessons had slipped away, replaced by memories of comic books and video games, but they were still there in his mind. This island was bringing them back.

'I thought he was trying to steal your book,' Ando told him, slumping down against the white hot sand, resigned to his fate.

'Steal it?' Hiro repeated. 'Ando-kun, he _wrote_ it!'

'How am I supposed to know that,' his friend snapped. 'I've never seen his picture before! How was I supposed to know that that was the same Isaac Mendez?'

'Then tell the others,' he suggested. 'If they know that it was all a misunderstanding-'

'How the hell am I supposed to do that?' Ando barked. 'They don't speak Japanese, Hiro! And we sure as hell don't speak English!'

Ando hissed as Hiro carefully began rubbing the aloe against his tender, red flesh. The slightly taller man flinched, pulling his restrained hand away, but Hiro managed to grab it and hold him gently in his grasp as he continued to rub the soothing herb on his abused skin. 'You have to sit still,' he chided. 'It'll only make things worse if you move around.'

'And you have to stay with me,' Ando told him. 'Don't leave my sight Hiro. I'm going to protect you.'

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_'Your father offered me a promotion.'_

_Hiro blinked in confusion as he spun around in his desk chair to look up at his friend's face. A promotion? It seemed so sudden. Ando had only been working for Yamagato Industries for a few months and already his father was offering him a higher position. Hiro had to admit that, although he wasn't really surprised, he was jealous. He had been working for his father's company since he had left college and he still hadn't been promoted past his dead end cubicle job._

_'That's good,' Hiro told him. 'What position did he offer you?'_

_He tried his best to flash Ando an encouraging smile to show that there were no hard feelings between them, but he couldn't help feeling worried as he considered the possibility that Ando's new position might take him away from him. These past few months had been wonderful. Seeing Ando everyday made work that much easier for him. It was like high school all over again. The two ate lunch together, slipped away into each other's cubicles, and often just goofed off by the water coolers, killing time until the clock ran out. What was he supposed to do if Ando became a supervisor in another department? Hiro couldn't go back to staring blankly at his computer screen for nine hours every day. He'd die of boredom!_

_'I'm going to be working directly under your father,' Ando explained, leaning against the half wall of Hiro's cubicle. 'I'll be his personal assistant.'_

_Hiro felt his eyes widen in horror. He had seen his father's other assistants. They were all large, grim faced men with hard eyes and a menacing air that surrounded them constantly. Whenever they would pass him by, Hiro would always bow his head and shrink away in fear. He could not imagine his friend in that position. It wasn't him at all._

_'That's a big step up,' Hiro muttered, trying to mask the dread growing inside of him._

_'Hey, don't be jealous,' Ando teased, patting his friend on the shoulder playfully. 'One day, you'll be running this whole company, and I'll be_ your_ assistant.'_

_Hiro smiled at the idea. He knew that Ando was just teasing, but he liked the image of the two of them working side by side years into the future. It put his mind at ease to imagine that their friendship would never change, even as the years went on._

_'What exactly are you going to do for my father?'_

_His friend shrugged indifferently, although Hiro could see the worry that he was trying to keep out of his expression. 'Whatever he asks me to do.'_

+-+-+-+

"How much further is it?" Isaac grumbled for what seemed like the tenth time since the group had left the beach. The artist had been in a foul mood all day, although Peter couldn't really blame him. It was bad enough that he'd been attacked for seemingly no reason at all, and Sylar and Claude mocking him about it certainly hadn't helped make him feel better. He was surprised that Simone had managed to convince the painter to come along on the trek in spite of the incident, but he had a feeling part of his reason for coming was to get away from the judgmental individuals back at camp.

"Not much longer now," Peter assured him.

"Didn't you say you were wandering around the jungle blind in the middle of the night when you found this place?" Isaac asked. "How do you know you'll even be able to find it again?"

Peter laughed nervously at the other man's words, but a faint blush spread across his cheeks anyway. A part of him was a bit worried that he wouldn't be able to retrace his steps, but so far everything looked familiar... maybe.

"Don't tease him," he heard Simone whisper from behind him.

"We're heading in the right direction," Bennet informed them, a far too peaceful look on his face.

"How would you know?" Isaac snapped. Apparently he was intent on picking a fight with everyone today. "You weren't even with him when he found the water."

Bennet turned and flashed Isaac a condescending smile, and Peter could tell that it only served to anger the other man further. "Because I can hear the water falling in the distance," he told him simply. "It won't be too much further now."

In no time at all, the quartet arrived at the spring that Peter had discovered. The group quickly got to work filling up their bottles while Simone volunteered to look through the luggage scattered across the cave floor for anything that might be of use to them. The nurse hadn't filled more than three bottles when he suddenly realized that his group was one man short. "Where's Isaac?"

-+-+-+-

Isaac huffed as he crept carefully away from the others and slipped into the thicket of trees. Life on this island was just one big issue after another. Polar bears, jungle monsters, wild boar who gored him for no reason whatsoever! Now even the other castaways were starting to turn on him. Isaac had grown up in a very spiritual family so he was more than certain that all of this was a sign from God that he was doomed to live a long, miserable life.

Even his stash was starting to dwindle. He scowled, pulling at the small brown baggie that he had brought with him. There wasn't much left, so he'd have to be conservative with it. He had promised himself to use it only one he was feeling absolutely miserable, but in this place, misery was a permanent state. He sighed, untwisting the top and sticking his fingers inside the pouch's opening.

"You okay, Isaac?"

The artist froze when he heard Bennet's voice come from behind him. His hands fumbled clumsily as he quickly closed up his supply of heroin and stuffed it back into his pants pocket. "Fine," he said hurriedly. "Just fine. Just needed... fresh air."

Bennet chuckled softly as he took another step closer to him. "Well you couldn't have picked a better spot," the older man joked.

Isaac frowned, pressing himself flat against the tree he had been hiding behind. He suddenly didn't like where this was going. "I just wanted some time alone," Isaac told him, hoping he got the hint.

"I know you."

His heart hammered in his chest as Bennet fixed him with a careful gaze, studying him at all angles. "What?"

"You're Isaac Mendez," he said. "The painter."

The Hispanic artist's whole body must have turned to jelly as understanding finally dawned on him. "Oh! You know my work," he sighed. "You're a fan?"

Bennet laughed politely as if Isaac had just told some joke that even he wasn't aware of. "I know I may not look like the most cultured guy, but I dabble in the art world a bit. I'm a big fan of your early work, although I must say -- and I hope I'm not being too forward..."

"No, not at all," Isaac said suddenly. He loved getting constructive criticism from fans. Most people bristled and got offended easily when others commented on their work, but Isaac saw it as a challenge. A chance to improve himself.

"... I feel your most recent paintings, while vibrant, are not nearly as deep and involved as your original pieces. You'd probably be better off if you quit the drugs."

The young man felt his face lose color as Bennet's words slowly sunk in. He never would have guessed that his fan base knew about his heroin addiction. He'd always tried his hardest to keep it a secret, although in spite of his best efforts Isaac was starting to get the feeling that even Simone was well aware of his problem. "What are you-"

"Give me the drugs, Isaac," Bennet told him calmly. "You're going to run out of them sooner or later. At least this way, it'll be your choice to quit."

Isaac scowled, his whole body tensing up as he took a challenging step towards the taller man. "Back off geezer," he snapped. "You don't know a thing about me! Just because you've seen a couple of my paintings-"

"She's going to leave you."

His heart stopped dead in his chest. A lump began to form inside of his stomach as took in Bennet's words. "What?"

"Simone," he clarified. "She's going to leave you." Bennet sighed, taking a few steps closer to him as if to make sure no one was listening in on their conversation. Yet Peter was still at the spring and Simone was deep in the caves. No one could possibly be listening to them. "I've seen the look in her eyes, Isaac. She loves you, but she's tired. Tired of worry about you, tired of being ignored, and tired of being over looked in favor of your heroin. You have to make a choice, Isaac. Which is more important to you; your drugs or Simone?"

Hot tears began to well up in his eyes. Simone meant more to him than anything else in the world. Everyday he'd spent with her felt like a gift. He knew his addiction was hurting her and he'd always intended to quit, for her if not himself, but he hadn't been strong enough. Maybe now, he could be strong for her.

Without another thought, he reached into his pocket and handed Bennet the heroin.


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Heroes or Lost.  
**Warnings:** AU, Violence, Action/Adventure, Drug use, Het, Slash, Crossover/Fusion

**Chapter 12**

Peter nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard Simone's scream come from within the caves. He leaped to his feet and charged towards her, ready to face a polar bear or a boar or the monster that had terrorized them in the cockpit. Instead, he saw Simone standing stalk still, her hands cupped firmly over her mouth, and staring at two dead bodies tucked away in a small, cramped corner of the cave, lying side by side, back to front.

"Who were they?" Simone gasped, trembling with fear. "How'd they get here?"

"Well I can't exactly perform an autopsy," Peter joked, hoping to sooth away her panic, "but there doesn't seem to be any trauma to these bones." He frowned, creeping in closer towards the two corpses in order to take a better look at them. Their shriveled skin and deteriorated clothes made it clear that the two had been living on this island for some time and the way they were laid down seemed to indicate that the bodies had been placed there, not brought on their own two feet. "They must have been here for decades. It takes forty to fifty years for clothing to degrade like this. It looks like somebody laid them to rest here. This must have been some sort of grave."

Simone nodded along, but he wasn't really sure if she were actually paying attention to what he was telling her. She still looked a bit panicked, but the color was starting to return to her skin. A part of him wanted to go up to her and wrap the tanned woman in his arms, but he pushed those feelings aside. Isaac was just outside the caves after all.

"We heard screaming," Isaac said, appearing as if summoned by Peter's thoughts. Bennet was following close behind him. "What happened?"

"We found dead bodies," Simone told him, pointing towards the corpses tucked away in the corner of the cave.

Isaac raised his eyebrows in shock as he moved closer towards his girlfriend, wrapping a protective arm around her waist. "Whoa," he gasped. "Do you think these were the people here before us?"

"What?" Simone asked, confusion temporarily pushing fear aside.

"What do you mean?" Bennet jumped in.

"I... uh...," Isaac stammered, looking for the right words. Apparently the artist had forgotten that only a select few knew about the Spanish woman's distress signal. "I mean, obviously these people were here before us. I... It's possible right?"

Bennet took a few steps closer, carefully studying the dead bodies suspiciously. "Who were these two men?"

"Actually," Peter corrected, "one of them is female."

The older man smiled, adjusting his horn-rimmed glasses, never taking his eyes off the pair of corpses. "Our very own Adam and Eve."

-+-+-+-

Hiro sighed, hugging his knees to his chest as he rested his back against the large piece of metal that had become Ando's temporary prison. The Indian man and heavy set American had come over and questioned him about the incident, but their words sounded like backwards gibberish in his ears so he was unable to respond. He had wanted to tell them that it was all a misunderstanding, that Ando was not trying to kill Isaac, but his English was terrible. He only knew simple phrases like "please", "thank you", and "where is the bathroom?" He could not help Ando even if he tried. Instead, he resigned himself to watching after his friend, since there was nothing else to do.

'Go get some food,' Ando ordered, noticing the way that Hiro's stomach was starting to rumble noisily. 'Don't be a baby. Feed yourself.'

The other man frowned at his friend's words. Ando had been the one who'd told him to stay by his side and now he was suddenly ordering Hiro to go away? Besides, he couldn't feed himself since he couldn't fish. They didn't have rods or bait, just pointed sticks and mangled nets. And the others... he could not talk to them. How could he ask for food if he didn't know how to speak their language?

'What am I supposed to do?' Hiro snapped. 'You know I can't fish and the others don't understand me! If you hadn't been such a hot head-'

'I was trying to help you!'

'This isn't primary school Ando-kun!' he shouted, frustration quickly seeping into his words. 'You don't have to go around fighting battles for me! I'm a grown man! I can take care of myself.'

Ando laughed, a bitter sound that made Hiro want to punch him. 'Yeah right,' he scoffed. 'You'll always need me to look after you, Hiro-chan.'

The younger man felt his face turn bright red at his friend's mocking words. He hated the man Ando had become. Ever since his promotion he acted like he was so much better than him. He wanted to yell and scream and demand that his real friend come back from wherever this monster with Ando's face had taken him, but he couldn't. He couldn't even walk away, because once Ando was gone, he'd be left all alone.

+-+-+-+

_Hiro smiled when he spotted Ando grabbing a drink by the water cooler. He had not seen his friend around the office in quite some time and it thrilled him to find him here. His father seemed to keep Ando busy day and night. He was always rushing in and out of the building, running some errand for his father. Apparently his father wanted Ando to deliver all of his messages personally, and kept him on notice whenever one needed to be sent out to a client or employee that had displeased him._

_Hiro wanted to say that he was happy that Ando was doing so well in his new job, but the truth of the matter was he missed his best friend. He remembered the days when they would leave work together and head back to Hiro's apartment to watch videos until dawn. Now Ando would not return his calls, didn't have the time to grab a beer, or even wave hello in the hall. Hiro was starting to wonder if they were even still friends._

_'Ando-kun!' he called happily, gaining the other man's attention._

_When Ando gazed up at him there was a far off gleam in his eyes as if he were thinking about something else even as he returned Hiro's wave. Ando looked terrible. There were thick black bags under his eyes and his hands trembled as if he hadn't eaten in days. Yet, even through his long sleeved dress shirt, Hiro could tell that Ando had gotten bigger. Ando had always been scrawny while Hiro had been chubby, but Hiro could see that there were toned arms and well defined chest muscles underneath his friend's work attire._

_'Hey,' Ando muttered, walking away even as he spoke. Hiro frowned, but followed him anyway, much to his friend's dismay. 'Shouldn't you be working?'_

_'I can take a break,' he shrugged. They hadn't spoken in months. Why wasn't Ando happy to be with him? 'How 'bout we have a Star Wars marathon at my house tonight? Only original trilogy!'_

_Ando frowned, shaking his head. 'Can't. Maybe some other time.'_

_'Okay. How 'bout Back to the Future, then? Or Star Trek?'_

_Something about his words must have upset Ando, because suddenly the other man stopped dead in his tracks and turned on him. 'I said I was busy!' he snapped. 'Now leave me alone!'_

_'Ando-kun?' he whispered, not knowing what he'd said to upset him so quickly. Maybe Ando was having a bad day?_

_'You're twenty-seven years old, Hiro!' Ando suddenly shouted. 'When are you going to fucking grow up and stop acting like a baby! I don't want to play with you anymore.' With that said, Ando turned and stormed off, disappearing around the corner._

_Hiro was left standing in shock as the other office workers who had witnessed the outburst stood around muttering and nodding in agreement. The young man hung his head low, keeping his eyes to the ground as he headed straight for the Men's Room. Once inside, he allowed himself to fall to the floor and cry._

+-+-+-+

Peter sighed, gathering up the bags of water and preparing for the long trek back to the beach. He wasn't exactly looking forward to having to haul enough water for forty-seven people to and from the beach every day. From what he could tell, things were peaceful enough out here in the jungle. There was shade, fresh water, and he was certain that Bennet would be more than able to continue hunting boar from here.

"Anybody gonna stay here and help me sort through this stuff?" Simone asked. She'd recovered from her shock by busying herself with sorting through the goods scattered across the ground.

"I'll stick around," Bennet said.

Isaac raised a suspicious eyebrow, obviously not ready to leave Simone alone in the jungle with someone like Bennet. "I could stay too," Isaac said suddenly.

"No, you should help Peter bring the water back," Simone said. "Bennet and I will be fine. I'm sure he'll be able to protect me from any wild boars that might try to attack us."

Bennet laughed softly at the young woman's joke, before disappearing into the cave, most likely to try to look for anything they might have missed before. Peter sighed, studying the spring water intensely. It seemed like such a waste to just leave.

"Something on your mind, Peter?"

The young nurse blinked, turning towards Simone's worried face. "I was just thinking," he told her. "This cave makes too good of a shelter for just burial. Adam and Eve must have lived here. They probably found this place and knew they could survive here. Unlimited supply of fresh water, tree canopy keeps the temperature down, shields out the sun; the openings are narrow, easier for protection against predators." He paused, taking another look around the area. "I think we should live here."

-+-+-+-

Mohinder sighed, gazing over at the two Asian men sitting in the blazing hot sun. He had to commend the one wearing glasses for staying by his friend's side, but he was starting to get the feeling that they were all just wasting their time with this "investigation." Matt and Mohinder had talked to everyone on the beach and no one could tell them what would have brought about the sudden burst of violence. Matt had suggested questioning Isaac again, but Mohinder couldn't really see much point in it.

"We should just let him go," Mohinder suggested. "If he stays out here like this, he'll probably get sunstroke."

"Are you kidding me?" Matt scoffed, easily brushing off Mohinder's words. "This guy tried to kill someone today! We can't run the risk of that happening again."

"Well we're not going to be able to figure out his motive," he pointed out. "The only ones who seem to know anything are that Japanese man and his friend, and unless anyone on this island can act as a translator, we're not going to get anywhere."

Matt huffed, shaking his head and getting ready to argue his point further, when Peter and Isaac suddenly appeared from the tree lines. "Back already?" Matt asked, noticing that the quartet had become a duo. "Where are the others?"

"Stayed at the caves," Peter told them, handing each man a bottle of water. "We'll be heading back soon."

"Two trips in one day?" Mohinder raised a skeptical eyebrow at the young nurse. Something about the way the younger man smiled and brushed his hair back nervously did not sit well with him. He had a feeling he wasn't going to like what Peter was about to tell them.

"Actually," Isaac interrupted, shifting his bags as if he wasn't interested in sticking around much longer, "Peter wants to move everyone to the caves. Which I think is the best idea _ever_. Who wouldn't want to live in the heart of the jungle with polar bears, wild boar, and crazy jungle monsters that rip pilots apart?"

"So does that mean you won't be joining us in the caves?" Peter asked.

"No I'm coming," Isaac shrugged. "I just need to deliver this water and then grab my stuff."

Peter laughed, handing Isaac his own bag before the artist slipped off towards the other end of the beach, making sure to keep his distance from the two Asians. Once Isaac was gone, Peter turned his attention back towards Matt and Mohinder. His wide brown eyes were shinning with hope and desperation. Mohinder suddenly worried that turning down his offer would crush the younger man's heart.

"What d'you guys think?" Peter asked.

"Sure," Matt shrugged. "Sounds like a good idea. Being near a fresh supply of water is the best thing for our people."

Peter smiled and his whole face was practically a glow with the success of his plan. He was like a child who had just learned to tie his shoe laces by himself. "What about you, Mohinder?"

The Indian man grew silent as he looked between the police officer and the nurse before letting his eyes fall back to the ground. "No," he said simply.

The younger man's whole face seemed to crumple in at his words. He looked as if Mohinder had just smacked him for no reason. "No?" he repeated, confusion and a small amount of hurt present in his tone. "Why not? We'd have shelter from the heat, fresh water, protection from predators..."

"Keeping the signal fire going is our best hope for rescue," Mohinder told him. "If we all go and hide in the jungle, what hope will we have of getting off this island?" It was also the best chance of getting Sylar off of this island and in a jail cell where he belonged. He sighed, shaking his head solemnly. As much as he disliked contradicting Peter's position as the _de facto_ leader of the group, he knew that leaving the beach was not a bright idea. "I'm sorry, Peter, but I won't dig in. I'm staying here."

-+-+-+-

Ando sighed as he watched Isaac strutting back and forth between his tent and the area where they kept their water supply. It was late in the afternoon now and the sun would be setting soon. His head buzzed and his mouth yearned for a drink of water, but his restraints kept him from doing little more than sitting in place, waiting for someone to let him go.

He glanced down at his side and watched as Hiro shifted in his sleep. A small smile spread across his face as he listened to Hiro's calm, even breaths and felt him adjust his weight as he pressed himself closer to Ando's side, using his shoulder as a pillow. His friend had drifted off a little while ago and Ando couldn't really fault him. He couldn't eat, there wasn't much water left to drink, and after their little fight, he had no one to talk to. Hiro had stayed by his side all day, drawing shapes in the sand and trying to figure out a way to tell the others of his mistake, yet nothing had come to him.

The Asian man felt his stomach tighten as he pulled idly on his handcuffs for the hundredth time that day. His wrist was red and raw and the rest of his skin wasn't doing much better after spending so many hours in direct sunlight. He really wasn't helping anyone by being so stubborn. Maybe he should just apologize and get it all over with?

As soon as he spotted Isaac heading back in his direction, Ando started to call out his name and wave his hands frantically in hopes of getting the artist's attention. He knew that the Hispanic man had seen him, but was merely ignoring him. He seemed to weigh in his head what the possibilities were for Ando to attack him again with his hand chained up and his other side being used as Hiro's own personal futon, before finally deciding to give in and head towards Ando.

"What do you want?" Isaac snapped, glaring down at him. "Gonna attack me again?"

Ando rolled his eyes and motioned for the other man to come closer. He was surprised when Isaac actually did as he was directed.

+-+-+-+

_'Two tickets to Australia?'_

_Hiro wrinkled his nose as he studied the piece of paper Ando had handed him. He hadn't spoken to his friend in over a month, not since the incident at the water cooler, yet all of a sudden Ando was offering to go on a trip with him? Something didn't add up._

_'Not just Australia,' Ando corrected, a strange look in his eyes as he flashed Hiro an awkward smile. He looked as if he were no longer used to using his facial muscles in such a way, and the smile constantly fought to turn back into his now usual scowl. 'Los Angeles too.'_

_'America?' Since childhood, he and Ando had talked about making a trip to America. Hiro had always dreamed of visiting the country that he had read about in so many comic books and only ever saw through television shows and movies. It was a trip he had been dying to make, with his real friend, not this new Ando who had replaced him._

_'Yeah,' he continued. 'We just need to go to Sydney for a little while; I have some business to do for your father. Then we head to California and I deliver a message for Kaito-san, then we'll be free to tour the country. Think about it Hiro, we can rent a car, that one you like-'_

_'Nissan Versa?'_

_'Yeah. We'll see all the sights, eat lots of fatty American food, and buy tons of cheesy souvenirs. What do you think?'_

_Hiro frowned, squirming awkwardly in his desk chair. A part of him wanted to reject Ando. He wanted to throw the plane tickets back in his face and tell him it would take more than a trip to Australia to make up for what he'd done, for how he'd acted. Yet deep inside he knew he couldn't. This was his Ando, his true best friend, peeking out from within this stranger and offering him an olive branch. It would be foolish for him not to accept this offer._

_'When do we go?'_

_Ando's face was practically beaming as he leaned over and gave Hiro a friendly pat on the back. 'September,' he told him. 'We'll be flying first class on Primatech Airlines.'_

+-+-+-+

Isaac let out an exasperated sigh as he crouched down in front of Ando, being careful to stay far enough away that he could not reach out and grab him. "So what do you want?" Isaac asked, before shaking his head, a bitter smile gracing his features. "Not that you even understand a _word_ I'm saying."

"Please," Ando began, choosing his words carefully and ignoring the way Isaac's head snapped up and his eyes expanded. "I need your help."

"You speak _English_!" the painter gasped and for a moment, Ando feared that Hiro would wake up.

"Shhh!" he said quickly, glancing over his shoulder to see Hiro stir briefly before settling back to his peaceful sleep. "Please, I need you to stay quiet."

"You speak English," Isaac repeated, this time in a much softer tone, but shock and disbelief still colored his words. "Why didn't you say anything before? We've been on this island for a week!"

"It's complicated," he whispered. "I... I just need you to know that I am sorry for what I did. It was a mistake-"

"Mistake? You attacked me!"

"I thought you were trying to steal Hiro's book," he lied. The truth of the matter was that he was jealous. They had been on this island for a week, and in that time Hiro had not smiled at him the way he had smiled at Isaac from that one signature alone. He had snapped, and his newly acquired instincts had taken over him. In the past, he had never been so quick to violence. In fact, he had never harmed anyone in his old days, but he was different now.

Isaac rolled his eyes at his lame excuse. "Steal it? I wrote it," he snapped.

"I know," he sighed. "And I am sorry, but I need you to tell them to let me go. I can't stay here forever. Hiro needs me to take care of him."

The artist sighed, running his hands over his face wearily. "Why don't you just have him say all this?"

"Hiro doesn't speak English."

"You sure?" Isaac asked bitterly, sarcasm clear in his words.

He nodded. He knew for a fact that Hiro's English was incredibly bad. The two had gone to school together and his friend had never gotten high marks in that area (which came as a surprise to Ando since Hiro had always been very fond of American comic books and movies).

"Does he know that _you_ speak English?"

"No."

Isaac blinked, confusion written all over his features. "Why not?"

"It was supposed to be a secret," he explained.

The artist laughed. "Speaking English is a secret?"

Ando frowned, not liking how the man kept poking fun at him. "Have you never kept secrets from someone you cared about?"

Isaac quickly fell silent as Ando's words hit their mark. A sheepish look suddenly appeared on the man's face as he slowly stood up. "I'll go get Mohinder to uncuff you," he said, before turning and walking away.

-+-+-+-

Claire flashed Peter a weak smile as the young man came towards her, an optimistic spring in his step. She knew why he was here. She knew that he was going to ask her to move into the caves with him, and she couldn't help feeling a ball of guilt forming inside of her stomach.

"So we're getting ready to head back to the caves," Peter began a friendly smile lighting his features. "You have your stuff ready?"

She tried again to widen her smile, but it would not reach her eyes. "I'm not going, Peter," she told him, relieved that the truth was out, but fearing the repercussions.

Peter's brown eyes widened as he studied her face carefully, trying to figure out whether or not the teenager was pulling his leg. "Not going?" he repeated. "Why not?"

"Because I'm sixteen years old, Peter," she said. "I... I can't dig in. I can't stay on this island forever. I have a life and a family to get back to. If rescue comes, I want to be here."

The nurse frowned thoughtfully as he brushed his floppy brown hair out of his eyes. "I don't want you staying here by yourself," he muttered.

"I won't be by myself," she assured him. "Niki and Micah are staying and so are Mohinder and Gabriel. We'll all help keep the signal fire going."

She caught the older man's flinch when she mentioned Gabriel's name, but she pushed that aside. She waited for him to say something, hoping he would be able to forgive her for this minor betrayal. All those feelings of doubt were pushed aside as Peter closed the space between them, wrapping her in his arms and holding her close.

"This isn't goodbye," he told her giving her slight form a tight squeeze. "I'll still come to the beach everyday to bring water."

She laughed, pulling away from him. "And I'll come visit some time," she promised, yet deep inside she knew that their separation wouldn't last very long.

-+-+-+-

Hiro frowned as he watched the newly released Ando stuffing his things into his bag quickly. The sun was about to set and the nurse was getting ready to leave and take a select group of survivors into the jungle with him. Hiro had been startled when he had discovered that not only had Ando managed to get himself released from his temporary confinement, he had also decided to relocate them to the caves.

'I don't know about this, Ando-kun', Hiro sighed, gathering his iPod and his manga in his hands. 'Living in the jungle can be dangerous. We don't know what's out there.'

'We know that there is a fresh water supply,' his friend reminded him.

'And boar,' Hiro put in, slipping his things into his bag and zipping it shut.

'Don't worry about that,' Ando sighed, rolling his eyes and lifting his bag onto his shoulder. Ando was only mid pull when suddenly he hissed in pain, dropping his bag to the ground and clutching his wrist to his chest.

'Ando-kun!' Hiro shouted; worry clear on his face as he stepped closer to his friend's side. 'Are you alright? Is it your wrist?'

'Yeah,' he admitted through gritted teeth. 'It's just a little sore.'

'Let me see.' Before Ando could relent or struggle, Hiro grabbed his friend's arm and inspected his limb. He frowned, noticing that the skin had been thorn to shreds and was caked with blood and small bits of sand. He sighed, grabbing the end of his shirt and ripping a small piece of it off.

'Hey, what are you doing?' Ando asked in alarm as he attempted to stop him, but Hiro brushed off his efforts.

'You should have the nurse look at this,' he chided, wrapping the shredded cloth around his friend's wrist and tying it off tight enough to stay, but not enough to cut off circulation. 'It could get infected if you're not careful.'

For a moment, Ando was silent. He merely stood there allowing Hiro to cradle his wrist in his hand. The Japanese man frowned, looking up at his friend questioningly before Ando blushed and turned away. 'You're right,' he admitted. 'I should... Thank you Hiro-kun.'

Hiro smiled, picking up Ando's bag and carrying it for him. He didn't have to rely on his friend only. They could rely on each other.


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Heroes or Lost.  
**Warnings:** AU, Violence, Action/Adventure, Drug use, Het, Slash, Crossover/Fusion

**Chapter 13**

Isaac did his best to suppress the groan building up in his throat as he tapped his pencil to his still blank sketch pad. Sweat was pouring down his face and his stomach felt like it was going to explode, or even implode. He hadn't felt this bad since before the plane had crashed, yet then he had a remedy for his symptoms. Now he just had to sit around and wait for his body to either fail him or get over the horrible withdrawal symptoms. Either way, he was praying for some kind of relief.

"You okay babe?" Simone asked, crouching down beside him.

He scowled, bowing his head in shame. Isaac hated having her see him like this. His skin had lost nearly all of its color and his eyes were red with thick black bags underneath. The Hispanic artist knew he must have been a terrible sight. "Fine," he lied. "Just fine."

"You sure?" she pushed, placing a tender hand on his cheek. "Maybe I can get Peter to take a look at you?"

White hot anger filled his vision at the very mention of the nurse's name. Yes, have Peter come fix him. Peter who was so perfect. Peter who was so brave. Peter who never had to deal with heroin withdrawal. _Peter_ could cure everything with his innocent brown eyes and sloppy smile. He sneered, turning away from the woman, already missing the feel of her hand on his fevered skin. "I said I was fine," he grumbled. "Just... leave me alone."

Simone sighed, pulling herself back up. She had heard this tone before and was used to his cold act. That knowledge alone made Isaac feel lower than dirt as she reluctantly turned and walked away from him.

He was being awful and unfair. Simone was just trying to help him and he snapped at her. The artist was just about to go after his girlfriend when Bennet suddenly approached him.

"Come take a walk with me," the man in the horn-rimmed glasses said rather than suggested.

"No thanks," Isaac mumbled, returning his attention to his sketch pad, and not the tall man looming over him. "I think I'll stick by the caves today."

"Come on," he pushed. "The fresh air will do you some good."

-+-+-+-

Claire smiled when she spotted Peter rummaging through his tent on the beach. She knew he would come back, but she hadn't expected it to be so soon. "Changed your mind about the caves?" she asked playfully as she approached the man.

Peter turned and smiled at her, straightening up just enough so that Claire could see the bag filled with his belongings that he had with him. "No," he shrugged. "Just grabbing some stuff to bring back to the jungle."

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak since she was certain that the disappointment would seep into her words.

"You can still come with me," he suggested. "Caves make natural shelters and it's a lot safer than staying here on the beach."

Claire frowned, shaking her head slowly. "We crashed here eight days ago, Peter," she sighed. "I'm not ready to make this place my new home. I haven't even finished high school yet! Besides, Mohinder has a plan."

"Yeah," he sighed, straightening up as he closed off his bags. "Find the source of that distress signal."

The teenager felt her frown deepen. She didn't like the weariness in Peter's tone. All this effort would be for nothing if they all didn't have a little bit of faith in Mohinder. "That signal's coming from somewhere on this island," she retorted. "Mohinder will find it. He's our only hope to get us out of here."

"I know," he said. "I... I just wish I shared your faith."

"Hope I'm not interruptin'," Claude said, appearing almost out of thin air from behind the two. Claire glared at him, noticing that the tall British man had a suitcase in each hand and looked as if he were studying the little tent carefully. "Just lookin' for a place to put these. Quite heavy, ya know."

"What do you want, Claude?" Peter scowled, crossing his arms testily over his chest.

"Movin' in," he told him simply. "Heard you were makin' a permanent home of the caves, figured now was the best time ta take this spot for myself." With that said, the older man dropped his bags on the sand, smirking at Peter. "Don't worry, if you ever change your mind, more than welcome to move back in."

Claire watched as Peter stiffened and his face turned bright red as if he had decoded some secret meaning to Claude's words. The nurse's brown eyes quickly darted around the small space, finding nowhere to look as he slumped his shoulders and turned away. "I'll see you later Claire," Peter said hurriedly, disappearing back into the jungle.

-+-+-+-

Isaac flinched, as he looked around the small clearing cautiously. The faint sounds of twigs snapping and leaves rustling were clear in the distance. He wasn't a hunter and he couldn't tell if it was animal or man, but he was certain he did not want to find out.

"Bennet?" he whispered, careful not to alert whatever was following him of his presence. He just wanted to find the man who led him out here so he could get the hell away from whatever was chasing him. "Bennet? Is that you?"

Despite the fact that his voice was barely above a whisper it seemed to attract the attention of the creature that had been watching him. Before he could turn his head to get a good look, the hairy four legged creature was charging towards him at full speed, head bent and tusks ready for action. Isaac took off at full speed, his legs carrying him over the uneven terrain, determined not to be gored a second time in less than a week.

His heart was pounding in his chest as he swerved before jumping over the leaf and grass covered net that he knew was under his feet. Turning his head slowly, he watched as the boar was lifted off the ground, trapped in ropes Bennet had tied into a crude net. The artist came to a slow halt, turning around and searching the small area for a glimpse of the man in the horn-rimmed glasses.

"Nice work Isaac," the middle aged man smirked, appearing from behind a tall tree. "You make excellent bait."

"Glad to help," Isaac panted. "Now give me back my drugs."

+-+-+-+

_"Is this really for me?"_

Isaac's eyes grew to the size of dinner plates as he ran his little fingers over the leather binding of the new sketchbook his mother had given him. He was practically hypnotized by the sight of the golden letters embedded in the thick cover. The child's smile widened, as he flipped open the cover and felt the pages. Rough and smooth in all the right pages. Thick enough that he wouldn't have to worry about tearing it apart when he erased or his markers seeping through.

"Of course it's for you," his mother laughed, her smile rivaling the intensity of the sun. "And so are these."

His breath caught in his throat when she presented him with the brand new set of markers. They were the expensive kind, the ones that the professional artists used. The Hispanic boy's stubby fingers itched to try them out. He wanted to crack the caps open and test them out right away.

"This is incredible!" he gasped, wrapping his arms around his mother and squeezing her with all of his might. "Thank you! Thank you so much."

He knew that with these tools, he'd be able to create something fantastic. He was well on his way to becoming a great artist.  


Isaac frowned as Bennet turned his back towards him, focusing all his attention on the wild boar currently thrashing and squealing with displeasure from within the tiny net. "Did you hear what I said?" Isaac snapped. "I want my drugs back!"

Bennet sighed, slumping his shoulders and shaking his head slowly in disappointment. He suddenly felt very much like he was about to receive a long lecture from his father. Luckily for him, Carlos Mendez had died long before he had become addicted to heroin, so he never had to have this sort of confrontation with the man. "I heard you, Isaac," he told him.

"Then give them to me dammit!" he bellowed. "I need them!"

"Yet you gave them to me," the older man pointed out.

"And now I regret it!" he snapped. "I'm sick! Can't you see that? I need my drugs."

"I think you're stronger than that, Isaac. And I'm going to prove it to you." The artist watched as Bennet continued to ignore him, prodding at the trapped animal as if it had all the answers to his problem. Isaac had to struggle to stay focused. He felt awful. He didn't know whether he was going to pass out, puke, or do both. Running for your life while your body was suffering from heroin withdrawal was a terrible idea. "I'm going to let you ask me for your drugs three times. The third time you do, I'll give them to you and just so we're clear, you've already asked me once."

Isaac blinked several times as he stared blankly at the man in front of him. He could hardly believe what he had just heard. It didn't make sense. "Why bother? Why not just hand them over or throw them away? Do you think it's funny, torturing me like this?"

Bennet laughed, turning to face the younger man with a smug smile plastered on his face. "Because if I just got rid of them you wouldn't have a choice," he explained. "Having choice Isaac, making choices based on more than just instinct, is the only thing that separates you from him."

The painter watched as Bennet pointed his knife at the piglet, still struggling to break free from his bindings, before grabbing the little creature by its ear and slitting its throat, silencing the grunting once and for all.

-+-+-+-

"Three antennas," Mohinder began, indicating the metal pole gripped firmly in his hand, and the two smaller devices resting in the sand below him. "Three points of triangulation. We'll set up one here on the beach, one in the jungle about two kilometers in, and one at higher ground, up there." He paused, pointing towards the mountain range in the distance. He intended to go a little higher to where Sylar had shot the polar bear. He watched as Claire nodded; listening intensely to his every word, while Sylar scowled, ready to make some sort of comment or remark to dismiss his idea. "If the Spanish transmission is coming from somewhere on the island, we should be able to find it. Unfortunately, there is one small problem."

"Of course there is," Sylar groaned, rolling his eyes in exasperation. Mohinder couldn't help but wonder why he was even there. This plan didn't concern him, if anything, it got in his way. The only logical explanation the geneticist could think of for the murderer's presence was Sylar's constant need to irritate him.

"The power cells I grafted onto the antennas are dry," he continued, ignoring Sylar's comment. "There's no way of telling how long they will last. It could me a minute, maybe more maybe less."

"So we'll have to wait until we're in position to switch them on?" Claire asked, catching on quickly.

"Exactly."

"How will we be able to tell if we're in the right position?" Sylar cut in, much to Mohinder's irritation. "We"? What the hell did he mean by "we"? "We have no way of communicating with each other."

Mohinder smirked, crouching down on the sand to dig into the backpack that had been resting at his feet. He reached in and pulled out a set of three bottle rockets.

"Bottle rockets?" Claire asked, scrunching her nose in confusion.

"Fireworks smuggles," Mohinder explained simply. "When I'm in position, I'll fire off my rocket. When you two see it, you fire yours. As soon as the last one has gone up we all switch on our antennas. Now all that's left is to decide who will be positioned where. I'll set up the antenna at the higher ground."

"I'll take the one in the jungle."

The genetics professor cringed as Sylar and Claire spoke at the same time. Wonderful, now he had to choose between sending the sixteen year old girl into the jungle by herself and leaving the serial killer on the beach to terrorize the other survivors or take said serial killer into the jungle where he could just as easily run off or possibly destroy his equipment.

"You're kidding me right?" Sylar snapped, turning his hard brown eyes towards Claire. "Jesus Christ kid! You've volunteered for every quest into the jungle since we crashed here! Give it a rest."

"Well that just means that I'm more experienced with getting around out there," she argued before turning her wide eyes towards Mohinder. "Come on Mohinder, you know you can trust me. I'll set up the antenna."

"I don't think so," Sylar butted in once again, before Mohinder could even think of a proper solution to his problem. "I don't think Professor Suresh is willing to send a kid into the jungle all by herself to get eaten by a polar bear or gored by a boar or ripped apart by that Monster. _I'm_ going. You stay here, cheerleader." With that said Sylar grabbed his rocket and stomped off towards his tent.

Mohinder sighed, rolling his eyes at the other man's retreating form. He didn't exactly know how to feel about the situation. He supposed that having Claire stay safely at the beach and taking Sylar into the jungle was the better option, but it still didn't feel right.

"He's such a jerk," Claire huffed once Sylar was well out of earshot. "How do you put up with him?"

The Indian man laughed softly as he bent down to gather his supplies together, stuffing his bottle rocket and antenna back in his backpack. "Just ignore him," he advised her. "It'll save you a lot of grief."

"No offense," Claire began, "but you should totally dump him."

His head snapped up so quickly he actually felt it pop. He studied Claire for several seconds, waiting to see a smile, a quirk of the lips, a slight chuckle, _anything_ to indicate that what she had just said had been a joke. It never came.

"W-what?"

"Dump him," she repeated with a shrug. "He's no good for you. I mean, you're so nice and he's-"

"Do you think we're _dating_?"

His words stopped Claire mid-breath. Her tanned skin turned several shades whiter as she suddenly realized she had made a huge faux pas. "I... I uh..." she stammered, completely at a loss for words.

"Because we are _not_ a couple!" Mohinder was ashamed to say that he practically screamed the words, climbing back to his feet quickly so he could glare down at the tiny blonde. A part of him knew that he was overreacting. The rational part of his mind knew that Claire had jumped to the wrong conclusion, but she hadn't meant any harm by it. Yet his whole body continued to radiate with anger at the very idea of being seen like _that_ with _Sylar_. He was a vial, serial killing, psychopath. What person in their right mind would willingly have a romantic relationship with someone like him? "I don't even like him! He's a vial, disgusting, pig headed bastard and I hate him! And I am certainly _not_ that way! I'm engaged! I have a fiancé! A _female_ fiancé!"

With that said, he stormed away, leaving a shocked Claire in his dust.

-+-+-+-

Isaac moaned, wiping the sweat off of his drenched brow. He felt dizzy as the world rippled in short waves and the ground beneath him felt like wet sand. Yet he knew it wasn't real. He was sitting on a rock, a few feet away from the entrance to the cave that had now become their home, resting his feet on what he was one hundred percent certain was perfectly solid ground. He blinked back the ripples as he ran his dirt covered fingers over the clean pages of his sketch pad.

Still blank. He hadn't drawn a so much as a stick figure in weeks and with his withdrawal symptoms, Bennet's strange message, and thoughts of rescue all swimming around in his head, he couldn't really draw much inspiration at the moment. He sighed, picking up his pencil and began scratching away at the pages, hoping that something would come up. He really needed some sort of distraction.

"What've you got in these bags, Peter?" Isaac heard Matt grumble. "Cinderblocks?"

He turned his head to see Peter and Matt approaching from within the trees, a sheepish smile playing across the young nurse's features. His eyes darted to the heavy bags the two men were lugging towards the caves. He may not have been very fond of Peter, but he was willing to help out just to get his mind off of the way his body was twisting and flaring up in pain.

"Need a hand?" Isaac asked, putting his pad and pencil aside as he headed towards the two. He watched as both men dropped their bags with a thud, seeming to not hear a word he had just said. The young artist had to fight back the scowl darkening his features as he reached over and grabbed one of the suitcases Peter had dropped. "I can take these over to the caves if you-"

"Uh, Isaac," Peter cut in quickly, "that bag's zipper's..."

He was too late. As soon as the Hispanic artist lifted the bag by its handle, the flaps fell wide open, spilling little orange medicine bottles across the ground.

"...busted," Peter finished, much to Isaac's annoyance.

The artist flushed, suddenly feeling very small and childish, as he crouched down to gather up the Rx bottles and stuff them back into the bag. "Sorry," he grumbled. "Just trying to help."

"It's alright," Peter told him, and Isaac had to resist the urge to visibly cringe at the gentle, patient tone the younger man was using with him. What gave him the right to speak to him like that? Peter was two years younger than him. If anything, _Isaac_ was the one who should be talking down to _him_. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Peter turn his attention towards Matt, ignoring Isaac for the time being (and somehow, that felt worse). "Wanna help me with the rest of the bags?" he asked.

"Sure," Matt shrugged.

The painter sighed, fingering the bottles pills thoughtfully. Matt and Peter were temporarily distracted, Simone was nowhere in sight, and he had a suitcase full of prescription medicine right in his lap. He didn't even hesitate before reaching his hand into the bag, digging through the sea of bottles. There must be at least one that could possibly help with his near blinding headache.

"What are you doing?"

Isaac nearly jumped out of his skin as he turned to see Peter standing right behind him, a curious look on his face. The Hispanic man was embarrassed to admit that his cheeks actually got redder as he sat shamefully at Peter's feet, clutching a half empty bottle of prescription pills.

"Just... looking for aspirin," he told him, his hand suddenly going limp as the nurse reached towards him and took the bottle from his fingers.

Peter frowned as he read the label carefully. "Diazepam?" he asked skeptically. "That's for anxiety."

"I have a headache, man," he muttered, snatching the pills away from Peter and roughly stuffing them back into the bag. "I was looking for aspirin... that's... that's just what I had in my hand at the time."

Even with his head bowed and his eyes towards the ground, Isaac could still feel Peter's troubled gaze upon him. The sweat that had been pouring down his body all day seemed to intensify as Peter crouched down next to him and placed a tender hand on his shoulder. His heart hammered with fear and for a moment he thought for certain he'd been caught. Peter was a nurse; he'd probably seen these symptoms before. If he found out he was going through withdrawal, he'd surely tell Simone.

"You okay?" the young man asked him. "You don't look so hot."

"Told you, I've got a headache."

Peter sighed, gently taking the straps of the suitcase away from him. "You should go get some water," he suggested. "You might be dehydrated." Isaac scowled, ready to protest being treated like a child, when Peter quickly cut him off. "Go take care of yourself Isaac. We don't need you right now."

Isaac's blood was practically boiling as Peter gathered up the last of the Rx bottles and walked away.

+-+-+-+

_"Isaac Mendez? I'm Simone Deveaux."_

Isaac felt his heart flutter and his mouth go dry as the beautiful, brown skinned woman took his paint and sweat covered hand in hers. She was radiant. Stunning. Easily the most beautiful woman he had ever seen and she was actually talking to him. He flashed her a nervous smile, suddenly feeling very aware of the messy condition of his tiny loft.

When he'd first moved into the lower Manhattan loft, it had felt so exciting and new, even if the layout was impractical and the rent barely left him with enough money for food and paint supplies. Now, standing there gazing at the gorgeous woman, with her stylish tight black dress and radiant smile, it just didn't feel good enough.

"Hi," he greeted nervously. His mouth felt bone dry and his tongue several sizes too big. "I... uh... How can I help you?"

"I'm an art dealer," she explained. "I've been hearing a lot of positive buzz about a talented young artist from Manhattan and I came to check it out."

His face must have been as red as a tomato as he bowed his head and laughed nervously. Talented? Him? He painted for fun, painted only the things he _thought would be interesting. His portfolio consisted mainly of pictures of people escaping from burning buildings, walking on air, or planes being ripped apart in mid air. They were fantastical, violent, and nothing an art gallery would have any interest in. Yet he showed Simone around anyway, just because he wanted the woman to stay a bit longer. Maybe if she stuck around, he'd be able to think of something charming and witty to say and eventually work up the nerve to ask her out for coffee._

"What do you think?" he asked sheepishly. Simone had been staring at his latest painting for some time. She stood with her shoulders stiff and a hand pressed flat against her chest as she studied the painting of a commercial bus engulfed in flames. It was one of his more violent and horrific works, if only in terms of its realism, and he hoped he hadn't frightened the elegant young woman. "Nothing special, right?"

"It's incredible," she breathed, turning to stare at him with wide, dazzling eyes. "You captured the scene so well! It's like a picture straight out of the news."

His eyes widened as he gapped at the woman, wondering if she were pulling his leg or being sincere. "You really think it's good?"

"It's amazing!" she gushed. "I have a client in Vegas looking for something just like this to go in his gallery."

Isaac's mind was reeling as he listened to the art dealer go on and on about all the things she could get him. She was promising him fame, money, and maybe even her companionship. His heart thrummed and his skin tingled at the possibilities. With Simone by his side, he knew he could become a great artist.

+-+-+-+

The day was dragging by far too slowly for Isaac's taste. After spending eight days on the island, the survivors had all gotten pretty good at telling the time just by the position of the sun, so Isaac knew right away that it was only noon. This meant he would have to deal with the harsh sunlight for another five to six hours. He groaned rubbing his temples with his dirt covered finger tips. Except for the few random doodles lining the edge of his paper, his sketch pad was still completely blank. It was hard for the artist to concentrate on anything except the way he felt; miserable and alone.

The Hispanic man frowned, closing his pad and placing it on the ground. Inspiration wouldn't be hitting him anytime soon. He moaned, hugging his middle and doubling over in pain. He couldn't stand feeling this way for another second.

It was then that his eyes caught sight of Simone heading towards the caves. He raised his head up slightly and watched as the woman headed towards Peter, placing a gentle hand on his arm to grab his attention. The nurse turned towards her and flashed Simone a shy smile, brushing his floppy brown hair out of his eyes. Isaac felt his stomach clench and his blood boil as he watched the two exchange hushed words, every so often sending a glance his way. He wasn't blind. He had seen the way Peter looked at Simone, the way he blushed when they were together. Peter wanted Simone, and Isaac was going to make sure the nurse knew who she belonged to.

As soon as Simone walked away, Isaac got up and marched over to Peter. The younger man had slipped off inside the caves, giving them privacy.

"Hey!" Isaac barked once he was at the mouth of the cave. Peter turned and gave him a quizzical look. "I bet you think you're pretty slick!"

"What?"

"Don't play dumb with me! I saw you! What'd you say to her?"

The nurse's eyes widened as he studied the man's face carefully. "N-nothing," he stuttered. "She just asked me some questions."

"Yeah, I'm sure," he snapped.

"Isaac, calm down," he warned carefully. "You're not yourself. You need rest."

"Don't play with, kid! I'm an important person! People respect me! I'm a fucking artistic _genius_, but you treat me like a fucking baby!"

It was only then that Isaac really took in the way the walls were shaking and the bits of dirt that fell as the cave came crumbling down around him. Peter must have noticed it too, standing as stiff as a board as large rocks came crashing down around them. His heart was pounding as his feet carried him out from underneath the falling bits of cave, narrowly avoiding the giant rocks, but not the wave of dirt and dust that covered him from head to foot.

His head was buzzing, his lungs burned as his body quaked and tried his best to cough out the excess dust that he might have breathed in.

"Isaac!" He shivered, blinking dirt out of his eyes. The artist was barely able to make out Simone's worried face as she approached him from a crowd of worried survivors. "What happened? Where's Peter?"


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Heroes or Lost.  
**Warnings:** AU, Violence, Action/Adventure, Drug use, Het, Slash, Crossover/Fusion

**Chapter 14**

Isaac trembled in Simone's concerned embrace, his wide brown eyes unable to meet hers as the cave dwellers carefully studied the now sealed cave entrance, screaming their leader's name.

"Peter!" Matt called, pressing himself gingerly against the sharp rocks. "Peter! Can you hear me?"

The man's cries were met with silence and Isaac soon felt a ball of guilt forming in the pit of his stomach. "I... I dunno what happened," he stammered. "We... we were just talking and-"

"It's okay, baby," Simone soothed, holding him tighter. "No body's blaming you."

"We need some extra hands," Matt grumbled, grabbing one of the rocks and tossing it aside. "Somebody needs to go down to the beach and get help."

"Yeah, right," Isaac nodded, not completely taking in what was being said or what he was saying. "I'm on it."

"What?" Simone gasped. "You sure? Baby you almost got crushed just a second ago!"

"It's alright," he said, slipping out of her tender embrace and heading towards the tree line. He knew that he was the one responsible for all this and he couldn't just sit around as Peter bled or suffocated to death. "I'm alright. I can do this."

Without another word, he took off towards the beach. "Make sure you tell Claire!" Matt shouted after him, his voice quickly fading to a whisper in the distance.

-+-+-+-

"So what are the odds of this working?" Sylar asked, breaking the silence that had fallen on the two since they had left the beach.

"What are the odds of us surviving a plane crash?" Mohinder snapped, wishing that Sylar would just keep quiet.

"People survivor plane crashes all the time," the other man pointed out.

Mohinder frowned, glancing over his shoulder and catching Sylar's intense gaze. He shuddered, picking up his pace and putting some distance between them. "So are you trying to say it was a coincidence?" he asked, gauging the other man's response. "I'm surprised to hear such a thing from _you_. Weren't you the one who said all this was part of our 'destiny'?"

"_Our_ destiny," the serial killer clarified, quickening his step to walk side by side with the genetics professor, "is to be together. I didn't factor us surviving a plane crash with forty five other people, but I suppose they will serve some sort of purpose."

The Indian man frowned, rolling his eyes in annoyance. He should have known better than to engage Sylar in any type of conversation. He was delusional and for the life of him, Mohinder could not understand why the other man had asked to come on this hike with him. Sylar himself had said several times that he had no interest in leaving the island, yet he was out in the jungle facilitating a rescue plan.

"You know it's been a while since the two of us have been alone together."

Ah. So that was it. "We've been together for eight days," Mohinder snapped.

"Yeah, on the _beach_," the American pointed out. "There are always other people around. Here, it's just you and me."

The geneticist rolled his eyes once again at the other man's comment. It was then that he remembered Claire's words to him, how she had suggested that he "dump" Sylar. He shuddered at the very idea of the two of them as a couple. "Do you realize that the people at the beach think we're dating?"

Sylar stumbled, momentarily losing his footing. "What? What makes you think that?"

"Claire said I should 'dump you'," he told him. He paused as a thought suddenly popped into his head. "You haven't been telling anyone that we were a couple, have you?"

"No!" he answered quickly, and Mohinder instantly knew that he was lying.

He frowned, stopping in his tracks. "What have you said?"

Sylar stiffened, coming to a stop a few feet away. "Nothing."

"Has anyone said something to you?"

"About what?"

"About us!"

The killer fell silent, his eyes darting between the trees and the ground, but pointedly not looking towards Mohinder. "Some people... have called you my boyfriend."

Mohinder felt his skin loose color and his jaw go slack at the words. So there were others? More people than just Claire who thought of them that way? "Have you corrected them?"

"It's easier not to."

The Indian man felt his eyes narrow as he balled his hands into tight fists. He had never felt so disgusted, so _humiliated_ in his life. It was bad enough that people were thinking this way, but to have Sylar go around facilitating these rumors only made things worse. "Look at me!" he snapped, only mildly surprised when Sylar turned his head towards him. "You're nothing more than a stone around my neck. You're just a thorn in my side! I don't _like_ you! I can't stand you! You'll never be anything more to me than a parasite so don't you _dare_ think for one second that _anything_ could ever happen between us!" With that said, the Indian man stormed off, not caring whether or not Sylar followed.

-+-+-+-

"Help! Help!"

Claire frowned, squinting her eyes against the harsh sunlight as she looked up to see a panicked Isaac frantically heading towards the beach. "Isaac?" she gasped, scrambling to her feet. "What happened?"

The painter came to a sudden stop, his body throbbing with panic as his eyes darted around the beach, taking in the small group quickly gathering around him. "It's Peter," he blurted out. "He's trapped."

"What?" She barely registered Niki's startled voice as she suddenly appeared beside her. Claire was too distracted by the sound of her heart hammering too loudly in her chest for her to even think straight.

"A cave collapsed!" he explained. "We don't even know if he's alive."

"Oh God," she breathed. The ground was spinning and she suddenly felt very woozy.

The teenager flinched as Niki placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Claire, it's okay," she assured her. "Peter's gonna be okay. We just have to get some guys together and head over to the caves. We'll get him out."

She nodded, hardly noticing as Niki and Isaac left to gather up people to lend a hand. She was about to follow, when something suddenly occurred to her: the fireworks. The signal! She couldn't just leave the beach when Mohinder was counting on her to help him isolate the Spanish signal, but sitting by and waiting around to find out whether Peter lived or died was not an option either. She needed someone to take her place, but who was left?

The teenager cringed, suddenly realizing there was only one person left on the beach who could possibly send off the flair. "Claude?" Claire cried, picking up her bottle rocket and heading towards the British man's tent.

+-+-+-+

_Isaac felt his heart beat quicken as he pushed past the crowd and towards the bathrooms. He couldn't take the pressure anymore. Suddenly everyone expected so much from him. His buyers, his fans, even Simone. This wasn't how he had imagined life as an artist. It was as if everyone was constantly looking over his shoulder and judging his work. He struggled to meet their standards, but he kept falling short._

_His breath quickened as he slipped inside the bathroom, looking underneath all the stalls to make sure that no one else was in the room with him before locking the door behind him._

_Sweat was practically pouring down his face as he reached into his pocket and pulled out the small black film canister. He had been talking to someone at the showing. The guy had told him about a way to relax, a way to take the edge off, and before Isaac could even ask just what he was talking about, he found his companion slipping the container into the palm of his hands._

_Tears sprang to his dark brown eyes as he popped off the gray lid and slid the small bag of heroin into his hands. He couldn't get inspiration on his own anymore. His buyers weren't impressed with him anymore._

_And Simone was starting to get frustrated and disinterested. This was where his life had taken him; hiding in an art gallery bathroom shooting up heroin. Yet if this was what it took, he'd do it. He knew in his gut that this was the only way he could become a great artist._

+-+-+-+

Isaac didn't head back to the caves with the others. The painter knew that the cave in was all his fault. Peter was probably lying underneath a pile of rocks bleeding to death and struggling for air all because he had been blinded by his own anger. He was sick and tired and weak. He couldn't help anyone, not even himself. There was only one thing that could possibly make him feel better.

Bennet frowned when he heard Isaac coming. The man in the horn-rimmed glasses was currently in the middle of skinning the boar Isaac had helped him catch just that morning. The sight of the skinless animal and Bennet's large hands covered in blood made his already suffering stomach long to empty itself of its contents.

"Something wrong, Isaac?" Bennet asked, glancing over at him for just a second before turning back to his task.

"There... there was an accident," he muttered. His brain suddenly felt cloudy and unfocused. "Peter... He... he's trapped... in the caves."

"Anyone trying to get him out?" Bennet's voice was distance and completely devoid of interest as he kept his focus solely on the piglet he was preparing for dinner.

"Yeah. Bunch of people."

"Then why aren't you with them?" he asked, finally turning towards the artist and giving him his full attention. "You didn't just come here to tell me about Peter, did you Isaac?"

The younger man bowed his head in shame as tears began to fill his deep brown eyes. He was pathetic, useless, just like everyone had always said. The only thing he was good for now was getting in the way. "I want my stash," he practically sobbed the words as he struggled to keep his feelings in check. "I... I can't stand feeling this way."

Bennet frowned, disappointment clear in his eyes. "Come here, Isaac," the other man said pointing his knife towards a set of branches a foot away. "I want to show you something." The Hispanic artist did as he was directed, not really caring what Bennet was going to show him, but playing along just so he could hopefully get his drugs. Taking a few steps closer to the thick leaves, he saw that there was a cocoon hanging from the tree branch. "What do you suppose is in that cocoon?"

The artist shrugged, not at all sure where the older man was going with this. "I don't know. A butterfly?"

"No," he corrected. "It's much more beautiful than a butterfly. That's a moth cocoon. Butterflies get all the attention, but moths build their cocoons out of silk which helps them grow faster. Stronger."

Isaac blinked in confusion, suddenly getting the feeling that Bennet had spent most of his free time looking up useless information on Wikipedia. "That's wonderful, but-"

"You see this little hole," Bennet cut in, pointing at the tip of the cocoon with the blade of his knife. "This moth is just about to emerge. It's in there right now, struggling. It's digging its way through the thick hide of the cocoon. I could help it, take my knife, gently widen the opening, and the moth would be free. But it would be too weak to survive. The struggle is nature's way of strengthening it." Isaac felt his stomach curl as Bennet reached into his back pocket and pulled out the small bag of heroin. "Now this is the second time you've asked me for your drugs back. Ask me again and it's yours."

-+-+-+-

Matt grunted, gripping the large rock in his hands and passing it on to the next person in their line of workers. He huffed, whipping the sweat from his brow and flexing the tips of his raw and worn out fingers. The man blinked, noticing that after hours of work they had finally made a hole large enough for someone to fit through. "Hey!" he said, drawing everyone's attention towards the entrance they had managed to create. "Hey! We've got a hole."

"Peter!" Claire shouted, pushing her way past the others and scrambling towards the narrow gap. Simone was just a step behind her, pressing herself against the jagged rocks to try to get a look inside the collapsed cave. "Peter! Can you hear me?"

There was a short pause before the sound of soft moans met their ears. "He's alive," Simone said, breathing a sigh of relief.

"Peter?" Claire said again, urging the other man to give them a clear response. "Are you okay?"

"I'm pinned," they heard Peter's voice whisper. He sounded weak, frail, and just barely on the edge of consciousness. "I can't move."

"What do we do?" Simone asked, turning her worried eyes towards Matt. "How do we get him out?"

"Isaac," Peter whispered from within the cave. "Isaac was with me."

"He's okay," Simone assured him. "He got out just in time!"

"We can't make the tunnel any bigger," Matt sighed, running his hands over his short black hair, "but since Peter can't get out, someone's going to have to go in and un-pin him."

"You mean, crawl through that?" Niki asked, whipping the sweat from her neck.

One of the Asian men blurted something out, gesturing vigorously at the tunnel. Of course, since no one spoke their language, the man was ignored. Matt would have felt guilty for so carelessly pushing someone aside, but a man's life was at stake and that was the most important thing on his mind.

"I'll do it."

The group of survivors quickly turned around and saw Isaac standing just a few feet away.

"Isaac?" Simone gasped, pushing herself off the rocks and towards her boyfriend. "No way. You barely made it out of there, now you want to go back _in_?"

"I did this Simone," he told her firmly. "I put Peter in this situation, it's only right that I'm the one to get him out."

Matt sighed, pulling out the flashlight he'd been carrying out of his back pocket. The bottom line was that someone had to go in and get Peter, the only one on the island with any medical knowledge, out and he wasn't exactly the right size to crawl through the small tunnel. "Go slow," Matt told him, handing the artist the flashlight. "Try not to nudge any of the rocks around you."

"Anything else?" Isaac asked, flicking the flashlight on and off to make sure it worked.

"Good luck," he said, patting the younger man on the back.

"Be careful," Simone said, pressing a bottle of water into Isaac's side.

Isaac nodded, accepting the bottle of water and kissing Simone's temple tenderly. Without another word, the artist approached the tunnel, slipping inside the entrance and wiggling his way through. The small group gathered closer to the entrance as Isaac all but disappeared inside. Matt frowned, crouching down next to the hole and trying his best to spot Isaac and see how far he had gone.

Before long the cave started to rumble and Matt's stomach clenched with the fear that the artist may have nudged a rock out of place. "Isaac!" he called. "Isaac move!"

The words barely left his mouth before the tunnel they had spent hours trying to form closed off completely.

-+-+-+-

Isaac coughed, his whole body shaking as dirt and dust once again poured all over him as the entrance he had just been crawling through closed up behind him. He shook his head, dispelling some of the bits of rocks from his hair and clearing his head, before pressing on. It didn't take long before he spotted Peter, lying flat on his back, dazed and barely awake with a large rock covering his right arm.

"Hey," Isaac smiled, pulling himself out of small opening. "I'm here to rescue you."

Peter smiled back as he watched Isaac approach him carefully. "That's great," he rasped. "Think you can get this rock off of me?"

Isaac nodded, crawling beside the other man and getting into a good position so that he would be able to pull the rock off without stepping on Peter. "Alright," Isaac said, wrapping his hand around the large rock and getting ready to lift it off. "On the count of three. One... Two... Three!"

With a large grunt, Isaac shoved the bolder off of the young man's arm, causing a howl of pain to erupt from the nurse. For a moment, Isaac was worried that Peter's screams would cause another cave in, but when the rocks did not fall, he decided to focus his concern on the nurse's physical state.

"Sorry, man," he whispered. "You okay?"

"My shoulder's dislocated," Peter grunted, studying his arm with a critical eye.

Isaac paled at the nurse's words. "Whuh?" he murmured. His stomach was already tying itself into knots; just the mere mention of someone's body part being dislocated was enough to nearly send him over the edge.

"You're gonna have to pop it back in."

Isaac had a feeling he was probably going to throw up.

-+-+-+-

"We need to try again," Claire said frantically, eyeing the now sealed entrance with worry. "They're going to suffocate. What if _both_ of them are hurt?"

"Claire," Niki started, resting a reassuring hand on the blonde teenager's shoulder.

"We can't just leave them like this," Simone added in.

Matt frowned, pinching the bridge of his nose as the small group continued to panic and argue amongst themselves. "Okay! Okay!" he grunted, rubbing at his temples wearily. He had been a cop for years, but he had never exactly been put in a leadership position before. The man had never realized how difficult taking charge could be. "We'll try again. Everyone just needs to form up again, and we'll start digging."

The group of weary survivors grumbled and nodded before reforming their chain and getting back to work, determined to rescue the two men trapped inside of the collapsed cave.

-+-+-+-

Isaac frowned, coiling his fingers into tight fists, hoping they would stop trembling. His stomach was doing back flips. The sickening _pop_ that erupted from Peter's shoulder when he had pulled the joint back into its socket still echoed in his head, even as he tried to focus on thinking of a way out or conserving oxygen as they waited for rescue.

He heard Peter take a loud gulp of water, wetting his dry mouth before clearing his throat loudly. "So how long has it been?"

The artist blinked, looking up at the young nurse with confusion in his eyes. "I dunno what you're talking about."

"How long has it been since your last fix?" he clarified.

A slight blush spread across the Hispanic man's face. He was grateful for the dim light of the cave, hoping that he could hide the way his face was quickly reddening. "'Bout a day and a half," he admitted. "How'd you know?"

"I'm a nurse," he said, offering him a drink from the now half empty water bottle. Isaac frowned and waved him off, feeling too guilty to share water with the other man. "I've seen these symptoms before."

"You're not the only one who sees things," Isaac grumbled pointedly, instantly regretting the words. He already felt like an ass for getting Peter trapped in the cave in the first place, he didn't need to make matters worse by starting a fight.

A shocked look suddenly spread across the young nurse's face as he bowed his head and looked away. It was clear that he knew exactly what Isaac had meant. "I... I'm not gonna lie," Peter whispered. "I have a crush. But I'm not that kind of guy. I... I won't do anything. She's your girlfriend. I'll back off."

"Of course," Isaac sighed. He was relieved that he wouldn't have to worry about Peter hitting on Simone, but what about her? Peter was kind, helpful, and handsome while Isaac was just a talentless druggie. How could he compete? "You're everybody's hero. A real saint."

"I'm no saint," the young man said. "I've got skeletons in my closet too."

"Not like me."

Peter frowned, before reaching out and placing a tender hand on the other man's shoulder. "You're a good person Isaac. You're quitting and that says a lot."

"Yeah, only took me five years. I'm pathetic. A useless coward."

"Would a coward crawl into a cave, risking his life for someone he didn't even know?" he whispered tenderly. "You're not useless Isaac. You've been helping out more than anyone since the crash. You really need to give yourself more credit."

A small smile started to spread across the young artist's features. He hated to admit it, but Peter actually did make him feel a bit better. He raised his head up slightly, about to offer the nurse his thanks, when his eyes caught sight of something. It was a small insect, darting back and forth in the corner of the caves. "Is... is that a moth?"

"What?" Peter asked, twisting around to get a better look.

"Over there," Isaac said, crawling over a pile of rocks to get over toward the bug. It was only then that he saw a small beam of light shining down a few feet above them. "There's a light. I see a light!"

-+-+-+-

Claire grunted as she tossed aside another rock, quickly turning back towards the collapsed entrance and pulling another free. She was completely focused on the task at hand, pulling rock after rock without pause. Her arms were burning, sweat was pouring down her face, and her clothes were caked with dirt and grime. Yet she couldn't stop. She had to keep going. Her only focus was on getting her task done and setting Peter free.

A quick glance to her side showed her that Simone was working with just as much energy. In fact, the older woman looked even worse. It couldn't be helped, Simone had been working to get Peter free longer than she had, but Claire had to wonder if it was Peter's safety or Isaac's that was on the tanned woman's mind.

"Claire," Matt said, tapping her shoulder with his large hand. "Take a break. We have more than enough people to dig."

"No," she said simply, her words coming out as weak gasps. "I'm good."

"Simone?" the cop began, but the sharp look the black woman sent his way was enough to keep him quiet.

"Hey!" Micah began, causing everyone to turn and look towards him. "It's the nurse. They're okay!"

A wide smile spread across Claire's face when she spotted Peter and Isaac appearing from behind a thicket of trees. If it wasn't for the dirt covering their bodies and the tired looks on their faces, Claire would have sworn the two had been hiding behind them the entire time. Without another thought, the teenager pushed herself off of the pile of rocks and all but sprinted towards Peter. The nurse let out a loud "oof" as she wrapped her arms around him in a fierce hug.

"Easy," Peter hissed, returning her hug with only one arm. "My shoulder."

"How'd you get out?" Simone asked, before planting a long desperate kiss onto Isaac's dirty lips.

"Isaac found a way out," Peter told her, smiling shyly at the affectionate couple.

"Way to go man," Matt cheered, clapping the artist on the back.

A shy smile spread across Isaac's face as the crowd continued to shower him with praise and affection.

-+-+-+-

Mohinder frowned as he checked his watch, reading that it was now 4:59. His stomach wrapped itself into tight knots as he remembered the hateful look Sylar had given him just before the two had parted ways in the jungle. Any other time, the Indian man would not have cared about hurting the serial killer's feelings, but this was different. His plan and all hopes for finding the Spanish woman's signal may come apart just because Sylar was feeling hurt. Sylar was cruel and petty and he hated being embarrassed. Worse still, he didn't even _want_ to go home. It would be all too easy for him to just smash Mohinder's equipment and go back to the beach.

He checked his watch again and saw that it was now five o'clock on the dot. The geneticist sent out silent pray to whatever deity was watching over him before pulling the match out of his back pocket and bending down to light the bottle rocket. The rocket took off with a high pitched shriek before exploding in the orange afternoon sky.

He held his breath and waited. One minute. Two.

Much to his surprise he soon saw Sylar's firework from his position in the jungle and burst in the sky followed soon by Claire's.

"Yes," he sighed, scrambling to grab his transceiver. "Yes!" He flicked the transceiver on and watched the screen carefully. The words "acquiring signal" appeared before his eyes and were soon followed by "receiving signal".

Those black words on the faded screen were the last thing he saw before stars exploded in front of his eyes and the world went black.

-+-+-+-

Isaac groaned, his whole body trembling as he sat doubled over in front of the glow of the fire. His skin felt like wet paper and he wanted nothing more than to vomit right onto the dirt, but his stomach was empty. Nothing would come out and Isaac would be left in even more pain.

"Its okay baby," Simone soothed, wrapping her arms around him and pulling her boyfriend's body closer. "We're going to get through this together."

"Simone," he moaned, screwing his eyes closed tightly.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she sighed, rubbing soothing circles into his back.

"Didn't... didn't want you... t-to think I was weak," he told her.

He could feel her scowl before she pressed a tender kiss to his temple. "I've always known Isaac," she whispered. "I've... I've been waiting for you to quit for years."

A weak smile spread across his lips as he looked over at her. "Maybe we... shoulda stayed in Australia. Coulda got some help."

"This is no time for 'what ifs' and 'maybes'," she told him. "You're getting clean now and when we get outta here, I'm gonna help you stay clean."

His smile widened as he pressed a quick kiss to her thick lips. He was dying inside, stuck on a deserted island going through withdrawal, but with Simone sitting there next to him, he suddenly felt like the luckiest man in the world. "Gonna stretch my legs a bit, babe," he told her. "Be right back."

With that said, the young man pushed himself off of the log he and Simone hand been sharing and walked towards the other side of the camp. He soon spotted Bennet standing in front of the boar he had spent most of the day gutting and preparing for dinner. A scowl came on his face as he approached the man standing in front of the open fire and roasting the piglet.

"Give them to me," he said before Bennet even had a chance to speak.

A look of disappointment crossed the man's face as he reluctantly reached into his pocket and handed the small brown bag to Isaac's trembling hands. "Are you sure about this Isaac?" he asked.

Isaac was silent as he took the small plastic bag and tossed it into the waiting flames. "I've made my choice."


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Heroes or Lost.  
**Warnings:** AU, Violence, Action/Adventure, Drug use, Het, Slash, Crossover/Fusion

**Chapter 15**

Claude sighed, running a hand through still damp hair. He had to admit life that on the island wasn't too bad. True, they were trapped there and most likely never going to be rescued and there was a monster pulling trees out of the ground running around in the jungle and their food supply rested on the whim of a man that Claude was fairly certain was mentally unstable. Yet things weren't horrible. After all, he got to sleep in everyday, there was nowhere to go and no one to tell him what to do and there was the nice beach front view that greeted him every morning.

He chuckled softly to himself as he pulled on the navy blue shirt he had found in the luggage in the fuselage. He was starting to sound like one of those goodie goodies down at the beach. Or the nurse at the caves. Just being on the same island as those people was starting to get to him.

The British man pushed those thoughts aside as he turned towards the jungle and walked towards his stash. He needed a smoke and his last pack was still in his stash. After the incident at the beach, he had decided it would be best to hide his things in the jungle to protect his belongings from the others.

A sound suddenly caught his ears, causing the English man to stop dead in his tracks. He frowned, stepping lightly as he approached the sound of plastic rustling. His scowl deepened when he saw one of the cave dwellers digging around in his stash.

"What exactly d'ya think you're doin', Scrappy?"

The young man jumped at the sound of Claude's voice, scrambling to turn around and face the man towering over him. It was then that the Brit realized that his thief was the painter who had spent the past few days wandering around the island with a glassy look in his eyes.

The young man swallowed hard as Claude popped his knuckles, preparing his hands to teach the child a lesson.

"This is gonna hurt," the lad whispered, "isn't it?"

+-+-+-+

_Claude hadn't pulled off this move in quite some time. He was getting old, he could feel it in his bones, and his back was already groaning in protest at the prospect of doing something like this with someone so hefty. Yet the British man ignored his body's warning as he slammed his fist one last time into the man's face, knocking him unconscious with a sickening thud._

_The man hit the ground with all the grace of a sack of potatoes. Before his mind or his body could try to reason with him, Claude quickly grabbed the now limp body by his shirt collar, lifting him back on to his feet._

One... Two... Three!

_With a loud grunt he lifted the man up off the ground and flung him with all of his might out the open window. The Brit groaned, thankful that his back had not given out as the sound of a body colliding with a parked car greeted his ears._

_"Job well done," he said to himself, peeling off the nylon gloves that were now soaked with blood. He made sure to leave the suicide note that had been prepared for the situation on what had once been the dead man's coffee table before disappearing into the night._

+-+-+-+

Mohinder hissed as Peter pressed the peroxide soaked gauze to the bloody spot at the back of his head. The nurse couldn't help but be amused by the fact that this was the _second_ head injury he had treated Mohinder for. In fact, it looked like the new wound might have been made right on top of the other.

"So what happened?" he asked, putting pressure on his friend's injury.

"Can't you tell?" Mohinder snapped irritably. "I was attacked while trying to triangulate the Spanish signal."

Peter frowned curiously at the Indian's words. "Why would someone attack you?"

"I don't know," Mohinder sighed, "but they destroyed the equipment, so it must have been someone who didn't want me to find the source of the transmission."

"There you are!"

The two men jerked their heads upward and spotted Sylar marching towards them, a displeased look on his face. It was strange seeing the other man at the caves, but the nurse could tell he wasn't exactly there to gather water.

"Where the hell have you been?" Sylar snapped. "I've been out of my head worrying about you! I thought you were lying dead in a ditch somewhere!"

"I'm fine, Gabriel," Mohinder said, being sure to call the serial killer by his true name in case someone at the caves overheard them. "Go back to the beach."

A slight hint of pink began to color the nurse's cheeks as the two continued to bicker back and forth, drawing the attention of the nearby cave dwellers. Sylar was supposed to be keeping a low profile, yet whenever he was around he seemed determined to draw attention to himself. Peter gently pushed Mohinder's head forward to check if there was any injuries he didn't see, but that didn't stop the Indian man from glaring over at the murderer.

The fugitive was about to continue his rant when he noticed the bloody gauze Peter held in his hands. "You're hurt."

"It was nothing," Mohinder said simply, causing Peter to raise an eyebrow at his words.

"You're _bleeding_!" Sylar pointed out. "That's not 'nothing.' Someone attacked you in the jungle, didn't they? You could have been killed all because of a stupid science project."

"Once again, _Gabriel_, your concern is unnecessary, unwanted, and unappreciated," the geneticist snapped.

The fugitive flinched as if Mohinder had taken a swing at him. His expression darkened as he knelt down in front of Mohinder's bent form. "See if I ever help you again," he hissed before pulling away and stalking off towards the beach.

A chill ran down Peter's spine as he watched Sylar retreat into the jungle. "Do you think he did it?" he asked. "Do you think he could have attacked you?"

Mohinder sighed, pulling away from Peter's careful hands to stand on his own two feet. "No, he was in the jungle when it happened. His bottle rocket went off less than a minute after mine. He wouldn't have had the time."

"Hey! We need some help over here!"

Peter's ears perked up when he heard Simone's worried voice approaching from the jungle. His eyes widened when he noticed that she was practically dragging a limp and bloody Isaac in his direction. Peter and Mohinder rushed to her side, taking the artist's barely conscious body off of her shoulders. The nurse winced at the sight of the other man. His face was cut up and swollen. Blood was pouring out from his nose and a large gash on his forehead. It was very clear from the size and pattern of the wounds that someone had beaten him.

"What the hell happened?" Mohinder asked, studying the artist with a troubled gaze.

"Claude," Isaac groaned, allowing the two men to lead him back towards the area of the caves that Peter now dedicated to mending and treating the other survivors.

"Claude did this?" Peter asked. He had to admit that he was a bit surprised. Claude was surly and mean, but he wasn't violent. At least, he didn't seem to be. "Why?"

"Because Simone has asthma."

Mohinder and Peter turned and gave the woman questioning stares. "You have asthma?" Mohinder repeated. "I've never seen you have an attack."

"I had an inhaler," she told him wearily. "I sneak hits when no one's looking."

"Why?" Peter asked, cracking open his bottle of peroxide and taking out a fresh set of gauze. At this rate, he was going to need another bottle if people kept attacking each other like this.

"Because there are forty seven of us trapped here on a deserted island," she snapped. "Wandering around breathing into an inhaler would just draw unnecessary attention to myself, attention that could be given to others."

The nurse nodded, dabbing at a nasty looking cut on Isaac's forehead with the cotton pad. The other man hissed and flinched away. "Well, what does this have to do with Claude?"

"My inhaler ran out a few days ago," she explained. "I always pack extras; four in my bag and four in Isaac's, in case one of us loses our luggage. But when I got my bag, the inhalers were gone. They weren't in Isaac's bag either."

"Then I saw that creep reading Watership Down on the beach," Isaac put in.

Mohinder blinked, not following Isaac's logic. "What?"

"It's Isaac's book," Simone clarified. "He had it in his bag. If Claude has it, then he went through our bags. He might have my inhalers."

"Well why didn't you just come to me and ask to get it back?" Peter asked.

Isaac bowed his head sheepishly, his cheeks turning pink underneath the blood sprayed on his face.

"Because Isaac wanted to be Mr. Macho and get it back himself," Simone mocked, tapping her boyfriend lightly on the head.

The nurse sighed wearily. It looked like he was going to have to head down to the beach and have a talk with Claude.

-+-+-+-

'I don't like it here,' Hiro pouted, watching as the nurse tended to Isaac Mendez's injuries. He felt sorry for the poor man. This was the second time he had gotten beaten up in less than a week. It must have been embarrassing. 'There are too many people getting hurt.'

'Don't worry about it,' Ando shrugged, filling up a plastic bottle with water. 'We have the nurse. It's what he's here for.'

Hiro sighed. In truth, he really did not like the caves. It was creepy knowing that they were sleeping so close to the wild boar and monster. 'Can't we go back to the beach?'

'No way!' Ando said. 'It's safer here. Besides, the nurse is here. If one of us gets hurt, I don't want to walk all the way through the jungle just to get a bandage.'

Ando had a point about the nurse, but he couldn't see how things would be any safer than at the beach.

-+-+-+-

"Where is it?"

Claude frowned, glancing up from the book that he had been reading to see the Poodle standing over him, a displeased look on his face. "Where's what?"

"Simone's medicine!" he barked.

"Oh. That." Claude shrugged, turning back to the novel and flipping a page idly. It figured that the nurse would come to see him just to help out some poor unfortunate soul back at the beach or the caves or where ever the hell he decided to set up shop.

His indifference only served to agitate the Pup further as he stomped his feet and crossed over to the British man's line of sight. "You beat up Isaac because he was trying to help his girlfriend," the nurse snapped.

"Shouldn't've been pokin' around in my stash," he told him, making sure his voice sounded as bored as possible.

Claude watched from the corner of his eyes as the Poodle stiffened in frustration, his hands curling into fists at his side. "Give me the medicine!" he demanded.

"What's in it for me?" he shot back.

The young man's jaw fell open in disbelief at his words. "You actually want me to _give you_ something in exchange for helping a sick woman?"

"Fair deal, Pup," he told him. "I have it, you want it, so just make me an offer."

The Poodle sighed, slumping his shoulders in annoyance. "Well what do you want?" he asked, irritation clear in his tone as he crossed his arms over his flat chest.

Claude smiled, turning his attention towards the young man. He'd been waiting for this moment for some time now. "A kiss."

The Pup frowned, wrinkling his nose in confusion. "You want me to find someone to give you a kiss?"

The British man rolled his eyes at the boy's naivet . How could someone possibly be so thick? "No, mate," he began, sitting up straighter so that he could look the boy in the eye. "I want a _kiss_ from _you_."

He watched with a great deal of amusement as the Poodle's whole face turned bright red as understanding finally hit him. "You... y-you want a k-kiss from _me_?"

The Pup practically squeaked the words and Claude had to laugh at the priceless look of horror that now painted his features. "That's right, Poodle," he chuckled. "A kiss for the meds. What d'ya say?"

If it were possible, the boy's face actually managed to turn even redder as he cleared his throat and looked away. "I... I'm _not_ that way."

The British man's face turned serious as he stood up, towering over the young American who shifted uncomfortably, but did not back away. Claude had to give him a bit of credit for that. "Doesn't matter if you are or aren't," he told him. "It's what I want an' all ya have ta do is pucker up your lips an' then I'll gladly give ya the meds."

The Pup gazed up at him then, his clear brown eyes wide with uncertainty and fear and it just made Claude want that kiss even more. "I... I don't..." he stammered.

Claude smiled, raising his hand to cup the boy's cheek, but the Poodle merely turned and retreated to the safety of the jungle, practically sprinting to get away from him.

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_"That was sloppy," his partner told him, a displeased tone clear on his thickly accented voice._

_Claude turned and frowned at the Caribbean man. He hated being lectured, especially by people who were younger and less experienced than him. "Got the job done, didn't I?" he snapped as he placed a cigarette between his lips._

_"Thompson will not be happy," the Haitian warned him, but he shrugged off his words. He had known his partner for nearly two years now, yet the other man had never told him his real name, no matter how many times he asked. Claude had decided a long time ago not to take advice from someone who wouldn't even tell you what to call them. "He wanted you to kill that man, but not get caught. If the police find as much as a hair-"_

_"They won't!" Claude cut in, lighting the tip of his cigarette with his match. "I've been in this business for twenty-three years mate! Don't cha think I know what I'm doin'?"_

_He was about to walk away, but the Haitian stopped him, grasping his upper arm in a vice like grip and freezing him in place. "I think you _want_ to be caught," his partner snapped, glaring at him with distrust in his dark brown eyes. "If you want to leave this business that is fine! Just say so and go! We do not need you around to get the rest of us caught."_

_The British man scowled, pulling his arm roughly out of the other man's gasp. "It ain't that easy, mate." _

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Bennet froze when he heard someone approaching from behind him. He placed the bottle of water in his backpack before turning around to greet the person coming towards him. He was surprised to see that it was the Indian man, Mohinder.

"Where were you yesterday around sunset?" Mohinder asked him, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Skinning a boar for dinner," he told him, flashing the other man a polite yet condescending smile. "I heard you were attacked yesterday. How's your head?"

The smaller man frowned at him, giving him a look that reminded Bennet very much of his ex-wife. "My attacker struck me from behind and smashed my equipment," Mohinder told him testily. "I'm just trying to figure out who did it and why."

Bennet stood, lifting his backpack onto his shoulders as he did so. "Well if you ask me, it'd have to be someone who would benefit from staying on the island. Didn't your friend, the one with the thick eyebrows, say something about wanting to stay?"

"I'm afraid he has an alibi," Mohinder sighed. From the way he spoke, Bennet would have bet money that the man wanted nothing more than to accuse Gabriel of the crime. "He was in the jungle when it happened. His bottle rocket when off soon after mine, a signal we worked out. He was more than two kilometers away. It would have been _impossible_ for him to-"

"Not if he knew how to delay the fuse," he said pointedly.

He watched as the Indian man's brown eyes widened at his comment. Apparently he had not considered that possibility. "How would he know something like that?"

"Anyone who watches television would know something like that," he shrugged. "Just use a cigarette." Bennet smirked as he gripped the knife he had placed in the loop of his belt and handed it towards Mohinder. "Take this. In case there's a next time."

Mohinder's long brown fingers hesitantly wrapped themselves around the hilt of the knife just as Bennet turned and headed into the jungle.

-+-+-+-

Hiro felt sick to his stomach as he watched the tanned young woman gasp and wheeze as she struggled through her asthma attack. His insides clenched as he recalled his older sister and her own struggles with the condition. Kimiko had always been mature for her age, but even the most serious minded child could make mistakes. On those rare occasions when an attack hit and his sibling was without her inhaler, her face would turn the ugliest shade of purple.

Sitting there watching that poor woman suffer brought all those awful memories flooding back to him. He could see from the corner of his eyes that even Ando looked uneasy as he tried his best to busy himself by focusing on gutting a fish he had caught earlier that day.

'That poor woman,' Hiro muttered, trying to force Ando's attention towards the situation at hand.

'She'll be fine,' the other man told him, although Hiro could tell that even Ando wasn't really convinced. 'The nurse is taking care of her.'

Hiro sighed as he watched the nurse dig around in his thick bag of medical supplies a confused and uncertain look on his face. The Asian man could tell that the American didn't have anything in there that could help her. 'I don't think he can,' he mumbled. It was then that he was hit with an idea. A way for him to be useful and help the asthmatic young woman.

-+-+-+-

"Water delivery."

Claire jumped slightly, slipping the small notebook she had been writing in underneath a bag at her side. She looked up and saw Bennet's tall form standing over her with a bottle of fresh water in hand. "Thanks," she smiled, eagerly accepting the water bottle the man was offering her. "But, uh, what are you doing here? Isn't this Peter's job?"

"He's got his hands full at the caves," the middle aged man told her.

The teenager nodded thoughtfully, folding her legs under her to make room for the older man to sit down next to her. "Anything serious?" she asked.

"Nothing he can't handle," Bennet assured her, setting his backpack down before settling himself on the ground beside her. "So tell me, why are you still hanging out here on the beach? Don't you want to move into the caves where it's safe?"

She let out a soft laugh as she opened the bottle of water with her sand covered finger tips. "Yeah, real safe," she scoffed. "I'd just have to worry about the occasional cave in!"

Bennet chuckled, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose. "Well, we took care of that," he said, a genuine smile lighting his features. "Checked out the rest of the caves. They're all stable."

The cheerleader smiled as she took a long gulp of water. "That's great and all, but I'm fine here. Besides, if rescue comes, I wanna be _here_."

"No body's going to get left behind, Claire," he smiled. "Besides... I worry about you. Out here all by yourself. It's so... sunny."

The girl laughed, brushing a strand of blonde hair out of her face. "Yeah, but I like the sun," she beamed. "And I'm sure there's a hat around here somewhere that I can borrow."

"Well, sorry for worrying," he laughed, rolling his eyes at his own fussiness. "I guess it comes with old age."

"Old? Yeah right. What are you, like, forty?"

"Forty-four," he corrected. "Most fifteen year olds think that's ancient."

"Well I'm _sixteen_," she corrected pointedly. "Which makes me more mature and therefore perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

Bennet laughed, his eyes turning towards the shore line before glancing back at the teenager sitting next to him. Claire smiled, adjusting herself so that she was sitting with her legs tucked under her chin, hugging them to her chest. She liked Bennet. The older man seemed to embody everything she had always wished for in a father. "You shouldn't be here," he told her. "You should be in school worrying about midterms and looking for the right college to go to."

Her smile widened as she leaned over and bumped their shoulders together. "Thank you for saying 'college' and not 'boyfriend.'"

They sat like that for a while, listening to the others scramble along the beach, organizing their belongings or splashing around in the water. Unlike the last time they spoke, the silence wasn't tense or awkward. It felt natural.

"What can I do to get you off this beach?"

The girl tilted her head to the side, pretending to concentrate long and hard on his question, before turning and flashing him a mischievous smile. "Get me some peanut butter," she teased. "Then I'll pack my bags and move to the caves."


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Heroes or Lost.  
**Warnings:** AU, Violence, Action/Adventure, Drug use, Het, Slash, Crossover/Fusion  
**Author's Notes:** A lot of you have been asking whether or not the characters will develop their abilities on the island. Well, I just wanted to clear the air right now and say that they will _not. _I went into this series planning for it to be a powerless AU. Now, if you've watch the later seasons of Lost *SPOILER* you know that there is room for this sort of thing to develope. I don't know how long this fic will go or if I'll incoperate abilities later on, but at the moment, no one will have any abilities.

**Chapter 16**

Sylar frowned when he felt a firm hand on his shoulder, nudging him into the waking world. He grunted, turning onto his back and blinking the sleep out of his eyes. He was shocked to see Mohinder in his tent, staring down at him with a quizzical look in his eye.

"Now Sylar," Mohinder started, shifting himself so that they were a bit closer, the Indian man's thigh pressed flushed against his shoulder, "I know we're stranded on a deserted island with nothing to do, but honestly, you can't spend all day sleeping! It's past noon."

The fugitive felt his frown deepen as he pulled himself into a sitting position. "Like you said, there's nothing to do," he shrugged. "What d'you want?"

"To apologize," Mohinder said sincerely, lifting a cracked cup that he had been cradling in his hands to Sylar's line of sight. "We've been on the island for over a week and all you've done was try to help me. The tent, the tea, assisting me with the transceiver-"

"Twice," Sylar cut in.

Instead of glowering and ripping into him, as he would have expected, the smaller man gave him a polite smile. "Right," he beamed. "Twice. Which I appreciate since, after all, you don't even _want_ to get off this island. So, I brought you a little something."

Sylar knew he should have been cautious, he knew he shouldn't trust the man who had just two days ago said he wanted nothing to do with him, but Mohinder's smile was so kind and sincere that he honestly couldn't bring himself to do anything but smile back. "What is it?"

"Juice," he told him placing the cup in Sylar's waiting hands.

The serial killer smiled, taking the cup and all but pouring the juice down his throat. It was nice to drink something besides water for once.

The Indian man was practically beaming as he leaned over and bumped their bare shoulders together, sending a shock wave of pleasure coursing through Sylar's body. "Why don't we go for a walk?" he whispered, his hot breath ghosting against the pale man's already heated skin. "Just the two of us?"

-+-+-+-

"Help! She's not breathing!"

Peter was on his feet and rushing to Simone's side in an instant. The tanned woman was trembling as she struggled to breath, her skin a smoky grey color and her eyes red and wide with panicked fear. He took the woman's trembling hands in his, noticing that her skin felt cold and clammy. "Simone. _Simone_!" he chanted, his tone harsh, but it needed to be to get the woman to focus on him. "Listen to me Simone. This isn't just the asthma. This is anxiety."

She shook her head, opening her mouth to speak, but only the sound of sharp gasps escaped her lips.

"You're having an anxiety attack," he told her. "You know you're out of medicine and you're panicking. Look at me Simone. Look at me! We can fight this together, okay? Simone, nod your head for me." He paused as the woman hesitantly nodded, doubt and desperation clashing in her light eyes. "Alright, now just breathe in through-"

"She needs her inhaler," Isaac whispered pointedly, crouching down next to them and darting his eyes between the two.

Peter frowned at the other man. He hoped that Isaac didn't think he had any ulterior motives for doing this. He may still harbor feelings for Simone, but right now she was just a patient in his eyes. "Breathe in through your nose, slowly," the nurse continued, ignoring Isaac's words (and the panicked eyes of the other survivors that were staring at the two of them). "In through your nose. You can do it."

Hesitantly, Simone took in a quivering breath, her whole body still shaking as she did so. He smiled at her as she took in another gulp of air through her nostrils before letting it out again.

"There you go," he beamed, squeezing her hand reassuringly. "I knew you could do it. Your color's back. Do you feel it?"

She nodded her head sharply before giving him a quick "Yes."

"Good," he beamed. "It's passing. Okay. Again, in through the nose. Alright, just keep doing that. Keep breathing like that. That's perfect, good job."

Once the young nurse felt confident that Simone was calmer, he turned his gaze towards Isaac, motioning for the other man to come with him. He stood, releasing Simone's soft hands from his grasp and already missing the sensation of her skin on his.

"Keep her calm," he told him. "Don't let her panic."

"Okay," Isaac nodded, glancing back over his shoulder at his girlfriend.

Peter couldn't help thinking about how unfortunate and unfair their situation was. Isaac was still suffering from heroin withdrawal and now Simone was struggling with asthma. The couple would have to lean on each other now more than ever before. The young nurse nodded, patting the artist on the shoulder before walking away.

"Hey," Isaac started, following after him. "You're going?"

"I gotta talk to someone," he told him. "I'll be right back."

-+-+-+-

Claude was surprised when he saw the nurse heading towards him on the path to the caves. He had been heading over there to refill a few bottles of water, but the angry, determined look on the young man's face clearly told the English man that the Poodle had serious business on his mind.

"Mornin' sunshine," he greeted, pulling a smug smirk onto his features. "Bit early for a walk, eh?"

"Here's the deal," the Pup cut in, his voice all business as he came to a stop in front of Claude. "I'll play your game, just this once. You're gonna give me the medicine and you won't say _anything_ about this to _anyone_, got it?"

The older man had to bite his cheek to keep the eager smile off of his face. In truth, he had never expected the nurse to take him up on his offer. At best, he had expected the young man to blush and squirm before turning to those goodie goodie friends of his to help him steal the medicine from his stash. But this was just too good to be true. After all the trash he had to put up with, he was actually going to get a kiss from the pretty young nurse.

"Alright," he said. "Deal."

Yet after he had said that, all the confidence and determination seemed to leave the boy. He bowed his head, studying his feet as if they were the most interesting thing in the world, before taking a few hesitant steps closer to Claude's large form.

"What's wrong, Pup?" he smirked. "Never been kissed before."

"No," the Poodle answered quickly, too quickly.

"Never kissed a man before?"

A deep red color spread across the boy's whole body at the man's correct assumption. "I told you yesterday," he reminded him, "I'm not _that way_."

At that he had to laugh. The British man found himself letting out a deep rumbling chuckle as he placed a hand on the Pup's hip. "No different than kissing a woman, mate," he murmured, rubbing a thoughtful hand along his hairy chin. "Course, there is stubble to deal with, but it don't so much hurt as tickle."

He heard Peter whisper a quick "oh God" before turning and staring back up at him. "Let's just get this over with," he said, stepping closer to Claude so that their bodies were pressed together. "No tongue."

"Yes tongue," the English man put in, his smile widening in spite of himself. The Poodle's eyes nearly tripled with horror at the idea. "Calm down, Pup. Not takin' your innocence, just gettin' ta second base here."

"Fine," he sighed, shoulders slumping in annoyance. "But could you at least call me 'Peter?' For _once_."

"Sure thing, Petey," he murmured before bending down and pressing their lips together.

The young man stiffened as Claude tightened his arm around his waist and cradled the back of the nurse's head in his large, rough hand. The Brit sighed, rubbing their bodies together and slipping his tongue out of his mouth and rubbing it across the young man's crocked lip. The nurse gasped in spite of himself, parting his lips just enough for Claude to slip his tongue inside, caressing and tasting the inside of the younger man's mouth. He tasted like sand and sweat and a sweetness that was all his own. As the two pulled away, Claude couldn't help but feel a sense of loss even as Peter glared up at him with his light brown eyes.

"Now give me the medicine," Peter whispered, pushing Claude away with his slim hands.

"I don't have it."

His words hit Peter like a punch to the face. The young man just stood there, staring up at him as a mixture of confusion and disbelief clashing in his wide brown eyes. "What?" he gasped, his voice soft and unsure.

"I don't have it," he told him. "Never did."

"But... but Isaac... he said he saw you reading his book."

"Found it in the plane so I took it. I never-"

His words were cut off when Peter slammed his fist into his cheek. His neck popped and his face throbbed as he watched the younger man storm off into the jungle.

+-+-+-+

_"You know what I don't get Rains?" Thompson began, leaning back in his chair and flashing his all too smug smile at Claude. "You go around, bragging about how you've been in this business for twenty-some-odd years, yet you don't seem to care enough to cover your tracks."_

_Claude scowled as his employer chewed him out. Thompson hadn't always been in charge of him. When he had started in this business, the two of them had both been on the same level. Then Thompson had gotten ahead, started spreading around ideas (like using a paper company as their front) and before he knew it, he was under the other man's thumb. Overall, Claude didn't mind much since he liked doing his job. He was good at it and it was a great way to relieve stress, but things were changing, he was changing. He was getting old, tired, sloppy, and even he had to wonder whether or not those sloppy mistakes were truly "mistakes."_

_"No one saw me," he pointed out._

_Thompson's smirk widened as he tapped his hands on his desk. "No, but the neighbors sure as hell heard you."_

_"They can't prove anything," he shrugged indifferently. "Didn't leave any finger prints."_

_"Plenty of blood though," he told him. "The whole apartment was covered in it." He paused, studying the British man carefully. "There something you wanna say Rains?"_

_Claude said nothing as he silently glared over at the other man._

_"Look, I get it," Thompson began. The other man adjusted himself so that he was sitting up straight in his seat, folding his hands on the table. "You're getting older, thinking about your golden years. You've got retirement on your mind."_

_"Something like that," the man grumbled._

_"Then just say the word. If you want out, then you're out."_

_The British man scowled at Thompson's words. His gut told him that something just wasn't right._

+-+-+-+

Sylar huffed, shaking his head slowly, trying his best to disburse the foggy feeling seeping into his consciousness. He felt light and dizzy and his body was tingling all over. Something wasn't right.

Mohinder turned and looked back at him, noticing his sluggish pace as he came to a stop. "Are you alright?" he asked, concern clear in his voice.

"Fine," Sylar lied, wondering if this was some form of sunstroke or the flu.

"We'll rest here a moment," the Indian man suggested, settling down on a patch of grass.

The fugitive nodded, following Mohinder's lead. He sat down next to him, hoping to rest his weight against Mohinder's firm side, but was disappointed to find the man scooting away from him. Sylar frowned, not sure what to make of the sudden shift in mood, but he was too groggy to put much thought into it. "How's your head?" he asked, hoping that the small gesture would help Mohinder to warm back up to him.

The geneticist sighed, running a careful hand over the back of his head. "I've been meaning to talk to you about that," Mohinder told him. "I didn't tell you the whole truth, because I knew you would over react, but I was attacked the other day."

Whatever fog had been shifting on to him temporarily lifted at the other man's words. "What?" he gasped, his eyes widening as he turned to study Mohinder carefully. "You were attacked? Why?"

"I don't know," he told him honestly. "I just know that whoever did it came up from behind me, knocked me unconscious, and then smashed my equipment."

He nodded his head slowly, listening to Mohinder's words but not fully taking them in. All he could think about was the fact that someone had hurt the genetics professor and Sylar wanted nothing more than to find out who had done it and smash their head open. "Who did it?" he asked him. "Do you know?"

"I think it was you."

The serial killer felt his eyes narrow and his hands clench into fists at the accusation. "You think _I_ did it?"

"You were mad at me," the Indian man reminded him. "You knew exactly where I was and you've told me several times that you have no desire to leave this island."

"That doesn't mean," he began, but stopped himself. The hazy feeling was starting to return and his body felt sluggish and out of his control. Something was definitely wrong. "I would never..."

"You've attacked me before," the Indian grumbled before grabbing Sylar's stubble covered chin in his dark hands and forcing the fugitive to look him in the eye. "Did you do it?" Mohinder asked. "Tell me the truth."

"No," he told him honestly. "I... you... you know how I feel."

Mohinder sighed, releasing the killer's face from his grasp. Once the other man released him, his whole body slumped over, drained of energy, as if it had taken everything in him to stay up right for so long. "I know exactly how you feel," Mohinder told him, his voice seemed so distant in Sylar's ears. "That's why I have to leave. I can't stay here with you anymore. I can't stand looking at you and seeing all the horrible things that you have done."

It was then that everything seemed to click in his mind, even as sleep tugged at him. "What... what'd you do?"

"I put sleeping pills in your juice," Mohinder told him. "When you wake up, I won't be here. Don't bother looking for me."

The serial killer panted, struggling to stay awake even as his vision blurred and darkened.

-+-+-+-

Claire frowned, tossing her hand over her eyes to block the sun's harsh rays from her face. She squinted, seeing that the sheet she had placed above her head had been removed by Bennet, who was now grabbing her things and folding them into her pink and white duffle bag. "Wh-what are you doing?" she asked, her voice raspy and thick with sleep.

"Packing your bags," he told her, a kind smile clear on his face. "You're moving to the caves."

The teenager's frown only deepened as her groggy mind attempted to process what the middle aged man had told her. Slowly, it dawned on her just what the other man was saying. "You didn't," she started, sitting up in her make shift bed. "You got me peanut butter?"

"You bet," the man said, the sun reflecting off his horn-rimmed glasses. "Although, I have to warn you; it's extra creamy."

Claire beamed, giggling sweetly at Bennet's words. "The creamier the better," she laughed, excitedly waiting for her part of the deal as Bennet crouched down beside her and dug around in his backpack. Her stomach was already rumbling at the very thought of the sticky substance. Weeks without peanut butter just seemed too long. Her smile practically crumbled to pieces when the tall man presented her with an empty glass jar. "I don't understand. Where's the peanut butter?"

"Right here," Bennet said, lifting the jar closer to her view. "Rich, creamy, stick to the roof of your mouth peanut butter."

The blonde looked from the empty jar to the man smiling over at her. A bright smile slowly spread across her features as she wrapped the jar in her tanned fingers. It seemed like she was going to be moving to the caves after all.

-+-+-+-

Peter was in a foul mood when he finally got back to the caves. He felt foolish, humiliated, and used. He should have known better than to trust Claude. The English man had been nothing but a pain in his neck since the day they'd met. Now he had to return empty handed and unable to help Simone.

Yet the irritated scowl that had marred his face most of the day dissolved into a look of confusion when he spotted a much healthier Simone and Isaac speaking to one of the Asian men. The short man was holding a bowl full of paste under the tanned woman's nose. She smiled, breathing in the substance with ease.

"What is this stuff?" Isaac was asking the shorter man, staring at the substance questioningly.

"Can I see that?" Peter asked, gently taking the bowl from the Asian man's hands. He studied it carefully, breathing in the rich aroma. "Eucalyptus," he announced, smiling gratefully at the small man. "Thank you...?"

"Hiro," Isaac supplied, taking the paste from Peter and handing it to Simone.

"Thank you, Hiro," Simone whispered, her voice still unsteady.

The Asian man smiled, a light pink color spreading across his round cheeks as he murmured his appreciation.

"Peter?" The nurse turned and was surprised to see Mohinder standing behind him, a serious look on his face. "Can I talk to you for a second?"

He nodded allowing Mohinder to lead him away from the other survivors. "Is something wrong?"

"I wanted to tell you something," he began, a worried look on his face. It was only then that Peter noticed that the Indian man was carrying a thick bag on his shoulders, one too big to have merely been for the trip to the caves. "I'm leaving the camp."

The young nurse froze in his tracks at the Indian's words. "What?" he gasped. "Mohinder, if this is about the signal-"

"It's not about that," he cut in. "It's about Sylar. I can't stay here with him anymore. I know I said that he was my problem, but... he's been my burden for the past four years and I just can't live with him anymore."

Peter sighed, running a hand through his thick brown hair. "What the hell happened between you two?"

"It's complicated," the other man told him, adjusting the strap of the bag on his shoulder.

"Then uncomplicate it."

Mohinder laughed, shaking his head slowly at the nurse's words. "If only it were that simple." The Indian man reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small key. "He's hand cuffed in the woods," he told him, "about half way between the two camps."

"Don't go," Peter pleaded, refusing to take the offered key. "We need you here Mohinder. Who else is going to get us rescued?"

"I'm not needed here. The camp needs a nurse, not a geneticist. Besides, I'm sure you and Matt will be able to handle Sylar." The Indian reached out and grasped his wrist, placing the cold piece of metal into the younger man's reluctant hand. "I hope we'll meet again."

With that said, Mohinder turned and disappeared into the jungle.

-+-+-+-

Claude hadn't really expected to run into anyone on his way back to his tent. He had thought he'd be able to refill his water bottles and slip away without any trouble, but when he spotted Peter standing there, a confused and forlorn look on his face, he couldn't fight the temptation to go rub in the fact that he'd managed to steal a kiss from the young nurse.

"What's wrong, Pup?" he called, gaining the young man's attention. "Waitin' for someone ta take ya for your walkie?"

Peter turned towards him, a hateful scowl marring his features. "What do you want?" the nurse snapped, his hands clenching into fists at his side. "Haven't you done enough for one day?"

"Easy Poodle-"

"Shut up!" the young man barked, his whole body radiating with anger. "It's Peter! My name is Peter! Not 'Pup' or 'Poodle' or any other dumb name that you want to call me." As soon as the words left his mouth, the young nurse started towards him and Claude felt certain that the boy was going to punch him a second time. Instead, he merely bumped his shoulder roughly, passing him by as if he were going to just leave, but he didn't. He stopped and turned to face him, irritation and something else still flashing in his eyes. "What's your problem anyway? There are forty six other people here and you're the only one who has to cause trouble. Why can't you just help out or contribute like everyone else? Why the hell do you have to be such a-"

Before Peter could finish his rant, Claude grabbed him by the shoulders, just hard enough to leave a few bruises up and down his arms, and slammed him against a tree.

+-+-+-+

_The bullet hit his side with a fiery bite that soon spread through his entire body. He had seen it coming, known that they were going to pull something like this, and yet he hadn't truly been prepared for it. He'd dedicated twenty-three years of his life to this organization. He'd been loyal, hard working, and yet the second he started to even hint about his desire to leave this was what he got; a bullet in the side and a slow agonizing death._

Severance pay,_ Claude thought bitterly as the wind sent a shiver coursing through him and his whole body went limp._

_He panted, clutching at the blood seeping out of his stomach as he glanced up at his faceless attacker. The moon was clouded tonight and the only source of light on the bridge came from the barely bright enough street lamp they stood under. Yet the man above him seemed to bend the light just enough so that he couldn't make out his face. Or maybe he had the loss of blood to thank for that._

_"No hard feelings, Rains." The voice above him was hazy and unfamiliar, but there was the faintest hint of dark humor to his tone, even as the man grabbed his arms and shoved him over the side of the bridge._

+-+-+-+

Peter's eyes widened for just a second, fear and confusion lighting his gaze before he bit his lip and forced it to harden in spite of himself. Claude had to give the kid credit for that. He knew he could be quite intimidating if he tried. Any other man would piss themselves if he had them in this situation. Although, a small voice in the back of his head told him that in his old age, he wasn't nearly as fearsome as he had once been.

"People suck, kid," the British man hissed. "They're all the same. Sooner or later they'll either leave ya or stab ya in the back."

The young nurse scowled, trying to piece together exactly what was going on. "So, what? This was some sort of lesson you've been trying to teach me? You kissed me just because you wanted to show me how cruel people can be?"

Claude smirked, studying the boy's wide brown eyes and his crocked lip thoughtfully. "Something like that."

"Well I don't buy it," the nurse snapped. "Just because something crappy happened to you doesn't mean you can brush off everyone. People are good."

The Brit scoffed, releasing Peter from his fierce grasp. He couldn't understand why the pup was trying so hard to prove him wrong, but he wasn't about to give up just yet. Peter wasn't a lost cause. He had to believe that.


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Heroes or Lost.  
**Warnings:** AU, Violence, Action/Adventure, Drug use, Het, Slash, Crossover/Fusion  
**Author's Note:** This chapter features a very mild sex scene. Feel free to skip over it if it makes you uncomfortable

**Chapter 17**

"Peter. We've got a problem."

The young nurse frowned as he gazed up at Matt's worried face. Peter had a feeling he already knew what the police officer was going to say, so he got up and headed towards the jungle before Matt could even start. "He disappeared _again_?" Peter whispered once they were far enough away from anyone at the caves who might over hear them.

Matt sighed, rubbing the back of his head wearily. "I dunno where he is!" he grumbled as if Peter had never spoken. "That guy just won't stay in one spot."

The nurse nodded thoughtfully, quickening his steps as Matt spoke. He hadn't expected that watching Sylar would be so difficult. Mohinder had done next to nothing to keep the serial killer under control, yet with the geneticist gone, the other man seemed to take every opportunity he could to try and get away. They couldn't take that risk. Sylar was a killer by nature. If he left their sight for even a second, he could easily pop up again and attack one of the other survivors at the caves or the beach. A part of him wished that the monster in the jungle would come and take the fugitive off their hands.

"God. How'd Mohinder do this by himself?" Peter muttered to himself.

Yet Matt heard his grumbled words anyway and his frown instantly deepened. "Well maybe that's something you should have asked him _before_ he left," Matt said pointedly.

Peter frowned at the cop's words. "Sorry, but I was busy trying to talk him out of leaving."

"Obviously you didn't try hard enough," he shot back.

The young man scowled, stopping in his tracks and grasping the other man's arm in his hands. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Matt sighed, scratching his short black hair. "Listen, Peter," the cop began, a weary tone clear in his voice, "I know you're just a kid, but the fact is that you're pretty much the leader around here, and you've gotta start acting like it. If someone wants to leave, you can't just _let them_ leave. You've gotta be firm about this, otherwise, people are just going to go off and do whatever they want and probably get themselves killed. It's already bad enough that we've got two separate camps to worry about. And with Mohinder gone, we really don't have anyone to look after the people on the beach."

Peter frowned as he took in the older man's words. Even if he didn't like the way he said it, he knew that Matt was right. Despite the fact that he had accepted his leadership position, he was doing a piss poor job of actually being in charge.

The young man stayed silent as they continued their walk toward the beach, promising himself that he was going to be more of an authority figure, starting with Sylar.

-+-+-+-

Mohinder felt a frown slip onto his features when he saw the thick black cable along the beach.

He had been wandering the shoreline for two days now and there was more than enough distance between him and the other survivors. As much as he hated himself for leaving, he knew it was for the best. With him gone, Sylar might actually start to behave himself. The serial killer had told Mohinder before that he only killed for a reason and Mohinder was slowly starting to realize that, here on the island, _he_ was the man's reason for his violent behavior. Sylar had killed the polar bear for him, he'd beaten Peter for him, and in his own sick, twisted mind, Sylar had probably convinced himself that smashing the antenna was for Mohinder's benefit.

Now that he was gone, the other survivors could go about their lives without worrying that Sylar would attack one of them just to please Mohinder. And with Sylar no longer there to distract him, Mohinder felt confident he'd be able to come up with another plan for triangulating the Spanish signal he had heard. Seeing the cable was just a confirmation in his mind.

He approached the thick, rope like form cautiously, noting that there was a small piece of the interior exposed, most likely due to being worn out over time. He picked the cable up in his hands and wasn't surprised to find it was quite heavy. What did shock him was the fact that it seemed to go into the ocean. Well, he couldn't exactly breathe underwater, so that ruled out following that end of the line. With a sharp tug, he lifted the other end and saw that it led well into the jungle.

Well, it looked like he was finally going to be able to find the source of the Spanish signal. With that thought in his mind, he used the cable to lead him to its source.

-+-+-+-

It wasn't hard for the two men to find Sylar. Peter knew right away just where to look for him. They found the serial killer at the beach, hunched over with his back facing them as he looked through Mohinder's bags. "Gabriel," Peter barked, careful to use the fugitive's real name in case anyone was listening to them. "What are you doing here? You're supposed to stay at the caves."

If Sylar heard him, he didn't show it. The pale man just continued rummaging through the bags intent on finding what he was searching for.

Peter glanced to his side and saw Matt staring back at him, his eyes urging the younger man to try again. "Sylar," Peter began, hoping that the killer's alias would produce an actual reaction from him.

"He left his glasses," he said simply, not bothering to turn around and face the two men.

Peter blinked at the fugitive's words. He had to wonder whether Sylar was speaking to him or just muttering to himself. "What?"

"He left his glasses. And most of his clothes... So much stuff. Why would he leave all this behind?"

The nurse frowned and turned back towards Matt only to find that the cop looked just as lost as he did. Peter sighed, running a hand through his long brown hair, noting that it had grown a few inches since they had landed, and walked around Sylar so that he was now standing in front of him. The fugitive still didn't react. His whole body was focused on his task and Peter was starting to realize that Sylar wasn't really looking for anything. He was just sorting the clothes and surveying what Mohinder had taken and what he'd left behind.

It was strange, but the nurse actually found himself feeling sorry for the other man. He knew that Sylar was a serial killer and the reason Mohinder was gone, but he could also see that he was taking the Indian's departure harder than anyone else. It was more than a little obvious that he was starting to miss him.

"He left it because he knew he wouldn't need it," he assured him. "Come on. Let's get back to the caves."

Sylar's hands stilled as he turned to look up at Peter, his dark eyes colder than anything the nurse had ever seen. "I'm not going back to the caves," he spat, his tone thick with disgust as he clutched Mohinder's suitcase protectively. "I'm going to look for him."

"What?" Matt cut in, taking a few steps closer to Sylar's side. "No way. You're staying right where Peter and I can see you."

"_Somebody_ has to go after him," he snapped, getting to his feet quickly so that he could tower over the two smaller men. "It's been two days. _Two days!_ Something could have happened to him."

"Mohinder's a full grown man," Matt pointed out, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. "He can take care of himself."

"Bullshit!" Sylar spat. "Do you know what he does for a living? He's a college professor! Of _genetics_. He can't take care of himself! He needs _me_."

Peter shivered at the serial killer's last comment. He was starting to understand why Mohinder was no longer able to be around Sylar.

The nurse was barely able to get back to his feet before Sylar started towards the beach. Fortunately, Matt was able to grab the pale man's shoulder, stopping him just long enough for Peter to stand up and get to his other side.

"You're not going anywhere," Matt said, his voice low and dangerous.

"Don't make a scene Sylar," Peter warned, but his words came out as soft pleas instead of forceful commands.

"Or what?" the killer snapped, his eyes tearing into Peter.

"Or we'll have to cuff you again," Matt said, finality clear in his words.

Sylar scowled, his gaze going back and forth between Peter and Matt, weighing his options carefully. Sylar had height and size on Peter and had beaten him senseless once before, but Matt had his cop training and experience on his side. If push came to shove, the two men could easily take Sylar down. It was clear that the same thought had crossed the murderer's mind as he gritted his teeth, grabbed Mohinder's bags, and headed towards the caves.

They had dodged that bullet, but Peter knew it was only a matter of time before Sylar tried to take off again.

-+-+-+-

An hour had passed, maybe more and the cable still seemed to have no end to it. Mohinder had stopped holding it in his hands less than a mile back and he now found himself in a dense part of the jungle, the trees creating a perfect shield from the sun. A part of him wanted to take a break, just sit back and rest for a few minutes before restarting his quest, but the inquisitive part of his mind would not entertain such thoughts. He had to keep going. If he found the Spanish signal, then he could cut it off and finally send out one of his own. Mohinder knew that that thought alone would be more than enough to drive him onward the rest of the day if not longer.

Yet, he did find himself coming to a sudden stop when he saw something waiting in the grass below him. It was thin and shiny and looked like...

_Tripwire?_ he thought curiously. The eight year old Spanish signal instantly came into his mind as he studied the wire. The woman on the recording had mentioned that there had been other people with her. This must have been a trap set up by that unfortunate group to catch boar. Pity seized his heart at the thought of that doomed group. He had to wonder what had happened to them. What had been the cause of their demise?

Mohinder shook those thoughts out of his mind as he easily side stepped the wire. He had more important things to worry about. Yet immediately after he had moved he found himself freezing once again when his ears noticed a strange sound. The geneticist barely had time to process the noise before he suddenly felt something grab his ankles and lift him feet first off the ground and into the air. He gasped, swinging his arms wildly as the world around him was turned upside down.

The momentum caused the rope that had caught him to keep swinging and before Mohinder could do anything to stop it, he found himself swinging towards a series of pointed sticks bundled together and attached to a nearby tree. He howled in pain as he made contact with the bundle causing one of the sticks to embed itself into his leg.

+-+-+-+

_Mohinder sighed as he adjusted his tie for what felt like the hundredth time that day. In spite of his mother's encouragement, he still felt he did not look presentable. He had shaved, combed his hair, bought new cologne, shined his shoes, and put on his finest suit. Yet his stomach was still tying itself into nervous knots as he studied his reflection with a critical eye. His dress shirt looked wrinkled, his hair was sticking out in odd clumps, and his tie would not stay centered._

_"Here," his mother said, shooing Mohinder's nervous hands away from his tie. "Use your father's tie clip. It will keep it in place."_

_"I don't want to do this," Mohinder blurted out as he watched his mother slide the golden clip onto his navy blue tie, centering it perfectly with her skilled fingers. "What if she doesn't like me? What if we don't like each other?"_

_"Nonsense, you'll get on just fine," his mother assured him, brushing a careful hand through his hair. "You liked each other as children."_

_"That was years ago," he pointed out, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other._

_Mohinder had always been a very opinionated person. He knew instantly what he liked and what he did not like. Yet when it came to this he was completely at a loss. On the one hand, it felt wrong. He had moved around a great deal in his life -- Chennai, London, Chicago, New York -- and in all the western countries he had visited, they all told him that this sort of thing wasn't right. His friends had all reacted in various levels of shock when the topic of an arranged marriage was brought up. They would shake their heads and frown in disgust at the idea of someone planning such an important part of your life out for you and in that sense, he had to agree with them. He was his own person, capable of making his own choices and the idea of his parents sitting around and discussing with strangers what sort of woman he should spend the rest of his days with seemed wrong._

_Yet, it was a tradition. His parents and his grandparents had all met this way and their marriages had turned out just fine. In fact, his mother had told him quite confidently that she could not have picked a better match for herself than his father. What's more, these marriages were not put together at random. His mother had assured Mohinder that there was much thought and planning put into picking out a perfect mate. Everything about their lives had been taken into account; education, religion, diet, even their height and age had been discussed._

_"And she's a geneticist, too," his father had told him eagerly. "You'll have so much to talk about."_

_Mohinder had cringed at his father's words and pointed out that he did not like genetics and was only in this field because Chandra had pushed him down this path._

_"I paid for your schooling," Chandra had shot back. "I paid for the food you ate, the clothes you wore, and the bed you slept in! After all I have given to you, why should I not be able to tell you what career to choose?"_

_And perhaps that was why he was so reluctant to meet this woman, because his father had taken an important decision away from him before. Because he still felt bitter at his doctorate in genetics that should have been in engineering. Because it would make Chandra so happy to see a woman he had chosen on Mohinder's arm instead of one he actually loved._

_Yet his mother's sincere smiles and concerns turned his mind. When it came right down to it Mohinder had to admit that this arrangement was convenient if nothing else. After all, if he had been left to his own devices, the young Indian might never find a wife and miss his opportunity to start a family of his own._

_His mother smiled up at him, kissing his cheek gently before tugging his arm and directing his hesitant gaze away from the mirror. "Come. Let's go meet your bride."_

+-+-+-+

Mohinder groaned as he swung slowly between the trees, hoping against all reason that the rope trapping him in this incredibly uncomfortable and dangerous situation would snap and allow him to go free. Yet luck did not seem to be on his side today. Who ever had set this trap was most likely long gone, killed by the monster or the polar bears, and he was a two day hike away from his camp. No one knew where he was and no one would come for him.

He sighed, allowing his eyes to slip close as he recited a silent prayer to whatever deity may be watching over him. He prayed in English and in Tamil and waited impatiently for some sort of response. At that moment, he would not have been completely against the idea of having the rope snap and his neck crushed in the process. Anything was better than having all the blood in his body slowly rush to his head and his stomach quake in displeasure.

The geneticist was about to abandon all hope when the sound of a twig snapping in the distance suddenly greeted his eager ears. His eyes widened as he scanned his surroundings carefully for any movement whatsoever. At this point, he would not mind seeing Sylar as long as the other man had a knife to cut him down.

"Hello?" he called out, testing to see if there was any response. Yet the area remained silent so he tried again. "Hello?"

He fell silent when he suddenly heard the sound of something cutting into the rope. He struggled, shifting himself to try to get a glimpse behind him, but it was too late. By the time he twisted himself just enough, the rope had snapped and ground came rushing towards him before his whole world went blank.

-+-+-+-

Matt quickened his step as he passed Sylar's glowering figure. The fugitive had been in a bad mood all day, not that he could blame him. He was in a dark mood himself. On the same day that he found out Mohinder had left camp for good, Peter had pulled him aside and told him that they'd been living with a serial killer for the past ten days. Matt had been furious to say the least that he -- the sole police officer on the island -- had not been informed of the situation before hand. He didn't know _what_ it was about him that made Peter and the others think he was so forgettable, but he was getting pretty sick of it. Just because he was a little hefty, didn't mean he was a bad cop. He could take control of this island. Yet Peter had already established himself as the leader. Matt knew that he pretty much had no choice now other than to establish himself as the law while Peter saw to all things medical and diplomatic.

The police officer frowned when he heard the audible thud of a heavy bag dropping at his feet. He turned and stared down at the bag before glancing up to look at the attractive young brunette who had put it there.

"Hey there," she said, giving him a very suggestive wink.

He gulped as he forced himself to remember the gold band that rested around his ring finger. "Hi," he sent back before nodding towards the brown suitcase at his feet. "What's this?"

"Some things we found in the jungle," Bennet put in, appearing almost out of nowhere. "Must have come from the plane."

Matt frowned, his eyes taking a quick glance towards the sky just to make sure that the moon and the stars were in fact out. "What were you guys doing in the jungle in the middle of the night?" he asked and then instantly regretted it. If Bennet was hooking up with the strange young woman then he didn't want to know about it. Although he had to admit that the man in the horn-rimmed glasses was the last person he would have thought to be on the lookout for random partners. Not that this woman wasn't attractive. Not that any of the women here weren't attractive.

"Hunting," the girl said, her dark eyes twinkling with mischief as she flashed him a shark like smile. Matt tightened his hand into a fist just so his wedding band would dig into his fingers, a clear reminder that it was there.

"Candice here has some experience," Bennet explained, flashing a condescending smile at Candice, who returned it with a knowing look of her own. "She picked up some tracks. Might be rabbit or some other rodent."

"Rodent?" Matt repeated skeptically.

"Figured people might be getting tired of boar," Candice put in, crossing her arms over her chest, but still smiling.

Matt shrugged, gathering the bags in his arm. "Well, thanks," he said, hurrying away from the unusual pair.

-+-+-+-

Micah yawned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he adjusted himself on the hard ground. When the camp had slip up, his mother's original decision had been for them to stay at the beach in order for them to be ready in case of rescue. Yet after the cave in, Niki had been dragging the two of them back and forth between the two camps, volunteering to help fix any little problem that might arise. Of course, Micah this left with nothing to do since his mother was very protective of him and insisted that he stay in her sight at all times.

It was frustrating to say the least. He was the youngest survivor of the crash and as such, he had no one else to talk to. Claire was fairly close to his age, but she was a teenager, and as such she naturally tried to prove herself to be just as mature and grown up as the other adults so she paid no attention to him. The only other person besides his mother who bothered to pay attention to him was Hiro, but his friend Ando seemed to be just as protective of the Japanese man as Micah's mother was of him.

The child sighed, sitting up straight and looking around the camp site. Practically everyone was already fast asleep, gathered around the large fire they kept burning throughout the night for warmth. That was when the soft glint from Mr. Bennet's knife caught his eye. Bennet was always out doing something interesting and always seemed to be willing to take anyone who was willing to volunteer along with him into the jungle.

He looked over to his side and saw that Niki was already sound asleep and breathing peacefully beside him. Micah knew that if she were still awake she'd never let him go with Mr. Bennet.

"Mr. Bennet?" the child whispered, slowly crawling to his feet and stepping towards the middle aged man. "Are you going back into the jungle to hunt?"

Bennet flashed him a warm smile as he sheathed his knife back into his side. "For a little while," he said.

"Can I come with you?" he asked, eagerness clear in his tone. "I just want to learn what you do."

"Micah?"

The child jumped slightly at the sound of his mother's voice. He cringed as he turned to see that she was now wide awake and staring at him, concern clear in her bright eyes. "I was just," he began sheepishly, "I was talking to Mr. Bennet and-"

"I know what you were doing," she snapped, cutting him off quickly before he could finish his explanation. "It's not happening. Now get back to bed."

Micah pouted as he gave Bennet an apologetic look before lying down and going back to his bed.

+-+-+-+

_Mohinder sighed as he pressed himself further into Mira's heat. He was in a daze, his head was swimming and Mira's long brown legs felt so good wrapped around his waist._

_"Mohinder," she purred, arching herself up to press their stomachs together, enjoying the way the man above her shivered with the contact._

_When he'd met Mira less than a year ago, he had been startled to say the least. He had not seen the young woman since their childhood in India. Back then, she had been nothing but wide eyes and scrawny, awkward limbs, but time had been very kind to her. She was now a full head shorter than him, but was blessed with a head full of thick black hair, elegant curves, and the most beautiful brown eyes he had ever gazed into. His body sang for her upon their meeting and she seemed to respond to him in much the same way, sending him shy smiles and secretive looks as their parents spoke and eagerly planned their futures._

_Yet still, he had been nervous. A marriage based solely on lust was not a marriage at all. Fortune seemed to smile on them both as the next few dates proved that he and Mira truly were a well matched pair. They were both practicing vegetarians. They preferred books over television. They both enjoyed the thrill of teaching and helping others gain knowledge._

_Since he was a child he had known he would have a wife arranged for him, but he never would have dreamed of falling in love with that woman._

_"Mira," he gasped, rocking steadily into her, enjoying the way she writhed and moaned for him._

_They should have been married by now. If their parents had their way, they would have been married by now, but they had their own plans. Mira had suggested they be very "American" about their arrangement._

_"We are not engaged," she had told him very coyly during their first unchaperoned date. "We will be just like any other couple. Whether we should marry is up to us."_

_He remembered smiling broadly at her suggestion. It was at that moment that he knew he was going to fall for Mira. The fact that she had given him back some control of his life, of his future, made him feel more confident. At last he had a say in who he was, in who he would be, and who he would be with. He would marry Mira, but only because he said so._

+-+-+-+

Mohinder did not get the luxury of screaming when his body was suddenly, and literally, shocked awake. He gasped, panted, and convulsed in pain as the electrical current spread through his being. His body twitched and his mind reeled as he tried to process what was happening. His vision was still fuzzy, but from what he could tell, he was no longer outside. He was somewhere else. From the looks of things he was inside for the first time in almost two weeks and there seemed to be a lamp swinging above his head, barely illuminating the blurry space. He grunted, testing his arms and legs, only to discover that they were chained to something.

Another current was sent through him yet again, causing him to screw his eyes shut and his body to tremble in pain. He howled as his ears rang and vision blurred. It took a few minutes for him to calm himself enough to hear that someone was speaking to him. The voice was muffled and frantic and from what his addled mind could tell, it was asking him a question.

First the words were spoken in German. Then French. Then Spanish. By the time the speaker got to English, Mohinder's mind had settled enough to realize that it was a woman speaking to him.

"Where is Alejandro?"

"Please," he gasped, breathing heavily as he tried to focus on his surroundings. He could now see that he was chain and bound behind what looked like a chain linked fence. "Who are you?"

His question was answered with another shock that sent his mind scrambling. "Where is Alejandro?" the woman asked again, her voice much more forceful and anxious.

"I don't know an Alejandro!"

Mohinder could have sworn that he heard an annoyed grunt before another electrical wave was sent through his being. "Where is Alejandra!" she practically screamed and for the first time, Mohinder could detect a thick accent in her voice.

"Stop! Please!" he gasped, but the woman would not listen to him. She kept electrocuting him, until darkness swallowed him once again.


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Heroes or Lost.  
**Warnings:** AU, Violence, Action/Adventure, Drug use, Het, Slash, Crossover/Fusion

**Chapter 18**

Mohinder moaned, quaking with the aftershock of the most recent electrocution. He'd been slipping in and out of consciousness for hours and the crazed woman darting between the shadows would not listen to a word he was saying. She merely kept shocking him over and over while asking him "Where is Alejandro?"

"Please stop!" Mohinder screamed, relieved to finally have a break from the relentless torture. "Please! Listen to me! I keep telling you, I don't know Alejandro! I... I'm a survivor of a plane crash. I found a wire on the beach, I followed it. I thought it might have something to do with the transmission we picked up on our receiver... a recording... a mayday, with a Spanish woman repeating on a loop for eight years."

For a moment, Mohinder thought that the woman was going to shock him again. Instead, she merely stood there in the far corner of the room as if she was, for the first time, processing what he had said. After a while, she began to murmur something to herself. It took only a second for the Indian man to realize that she was reciting the same words that had been spoken on the distress signal. As she spoke, he heard Isaac's hesitant voice creep into his head.

_It killed them. It killed them all. They're dead... Please... Please come. Please help me..._

His heart was going a thousand beats a second and his limbs were still trembling from the aftershock; at least that's what he was telling himself as the woman stepped out of the shadows and into the light. She was incredibly thin, with sunken cheeks and scrawny arms that exposed every muscle and bone under her skin. Her head was covered in thick black hair that was matted and frizzed. And her eyes, her too wide eyes, looked crazed and frightened. She was beautiful in a way, but frightening in many others. Sweat poured down his face as she trained her dark orbs on his face, her gaze so lost and uncertain.

"Eight years?" she asked slowly, the accent he had detected now clear and obviously Hispanic in origin. "Has it really been that long?"

Mohinder stiffened when he saw her step around the chain linked fence carrying a large rifle in her frail arms. "You?" he gasped, realizing finally that this girl had been the Spanish woman on the distress signal.

"You heard my message?" she asked, her eyes darkening with anger as she raised the rifle above his head. "I know what you are."

He was just about to ask what she had meant by that when the butt of the rifle came crashing down on his skull, engulfing him in darkness once again.

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_The attacks started less than a week after he had purchased the engagement ring. At first, they had been convinced that they were all a series of accidents. (Heels broke all the time didn't they? And so what if hers broke while she was walking down a flight of stairs? And clearly that cabby did not see her coming!) But as time went on, Mohinder started to think that someone may have been targeting Mira._

_They had called the police, but it had been little help. They had no evidence of who was causing these attacks let alone that they were even connected and Mira had never actually seen anyone._

_It broke Mohinder's heart to see her like this. Mira had once been so vibrant and alive, yet now she lived every day in fear, constantly looking over her shoulder and waiting for the next attempt on her life. He felt so powerless and out of control as he watched the woman he loved fall apart before his eyes._

_He sighed as he sat on the foot of his bed, staring at the small velvet box he'd been holding in his trembling fingers. He wanted to propose, he wanted to ask Mira to spend the rest of her life with him, but when was there a proper time to pop the question when your intended lived everyday in fear of death?_

_He supposed that the simple answer was that there was none. He'd just have to bite the bullet and ask._

+-+-+-+

Mohinder groaned as the thick black curtain of unconsciousness slowly lifted from his mind. He swallowed hard against the dry feeling in his throat and tried his best to take in his surroundings. Looking around, he was finally able to see that he was in a bunker of some sort. The ceiling was made out of a series of bamboo sticks tied together and covered with leaves and if the dirt walls and ladder leading towards the roof were any indication, it seemed that this shelter had in fact been built under ground.

There was a wealth of supplies all around him -- storage lockers, a desk, chairs, kerosene lamps, and even light bulbs that seemed to have been hooked up to some sort of battery -- yet what caught his attention were the riffles that were attached to the rack just beyond the metal fencing. Whoever this woman was, she had been well prepared for the dangers this island might have offered.

He frowned, spotting the Spanish woman sitting at the desk on the opposite side of his makeshift prison. She was currently digging through his back pack and pulling out his supplies. He saw her flipping through a book he had brought with him when something else caught his attention. A khaki colored jacket rested on the back of a chair a little more than a foot away from him. Over the jacket pocket the name "Herrera" was stitched in thick black letters.

"Herrera?" he whispered, surprised by the roughness of his own voice.

The woman stiffened and turned towards him, a frightened look in her wide eyes. "How did you know my name?"

"I didn't," he explained, nodding towards the jacket. "I read it on your jacket."

Herrera said nothing. She merely frowned and turned back to his bag, fingering the pages of his book curiously.

"What is this place?" he asked, his inquisitive nature taking over even in this dangerous situation. "Those batteries... they wouldn't be able to generate enough power to transmit your distress call all these years."

"I broadcast from somewhere else," she explained, pulling out a small envelope he kept tucked away in the back of his text. "But they control it now."

"They?" he repeated, shifting himself to try to see what she was looking at now.

"Your people," she corrected, not bothering to look him in the eye.

He sighed wearily, rolling his eyes at her words. "I told you, I am a survivor of a plane crash! I've only been here for-"

"Mohinder," she said slowly, testing the name carefully on her tongue.

In spite of himself he felt a slight shiver course through his body at the sound of his name being spoken in that thick, accented voice. "What?" he whispered.

"Is that your name?" she asked, turning towards him. Curiosity was shinning in her eyes as she raised the envelope just enough so he could see that his name was written on it in light, faded penciled letters. "It was on this envelope. With these pictures." His heart froze as she slipped out the photographs he had been carrying with him, and flipped through each one with a pleasant smile on her face. "Who is she? The woman in these pictures?"

"Mira," he told her, his voice already starting to tremble as he spoke the too familiar name. "Her name is Mira."

"She's beautiful," she said. Her words were barely above a whisper as she stood up, cradling the pictures in her hand like a precious treasure, and walked towards him. She smiled at him, a sad, wistful smile that told him very clearly she had not had the luxury of a conversation in many years. She was a frightened, lonely woman who lived every day in solitude on an island full of monsters and nightmares. His heart broke for her even as the chains binding his limbs to the bed bit into his flesh. "Tell me more about her?"

Herrera's words caused his heart to clench unpleasantly at the thought of Mira. All the memories they shared together -- happy and sad, frightened and safe -- came flooding back like a tidal wave. He couldn't talk about it even if he wanted to.

"Who is Alejandro?"

Their eyes met for a moment and the pain that flashed in Herrera's wide brown orbs was enough to make him feel sick inside.

-+-+-+-

"Do you want me to check your bandages?"

Sylar scowled as he looked up at the nurse standing above him. The serial killer hadn't made a peep in a while and Peter couldn't help wondering if it was because he was depressed over Mohinder or if he was planning something. Either way, Peter didn't like it. Sylar being moody and quiet was just as bad as him acting up and being destructive. It made the other cave dwellers feel uncomfortable and ask a lot of questions. He had to get Sylar in a better state of mind, a task that would be incredibly difficult since the fugitive was currently being forced to stay at the caves against his will.

Peter sighed when the other man didn't respond to his question. It seemed as if he was intent on making things harder than they had to be. "You cut yourself up pretty bad from those cuffs," he said, sitting down next to him. "You could get an infection. Let me take a look at how they're healing."

When he and Matt had found Sylar in the jungle, he had been bound and gagged and furious. He'd ripped his skin apart worst that when he'd escaped the hand cuffs the first time around. Even after they'd brought him back to the caves, Peter still had to struggle to get Sylar to sit still long enough for him to remove the shreds that were his old bandages and put new ones on.

"It's just a bunch of scratches," the serial killer grumbled, rubbing at his wrists unconsciously.

"Do they hurt?" he pushed, reaching out to study them, only to have Sylar pull away. The nurse sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Look, I don't like this situation any more than you do-"

"I doubt it," Sylar muttered.

"-but you're just going to have to accept that this is the way things are going to be from now on."

The fugitive's brown eyes narrowed at Peter's words. He stood up straight, towering over the younger man. "I don't have to accept _anything_," he spat before turning and walking away.

-+-+-+-

"So you heard my transmission," Herrera began carefully, sitting down on the metal bed frame beside Mohinder, "and came looking for me? For what? Answers?"

Mohinder frowned, shaking his head slowly at her. "I didn't know you were still alive."

"Liar," she snapped, turning away from him as if his words had disgusted her.

"I'm not lying!" he stressed.

"All lies!" she barked, tears brimming in her eyes, the frustration becoming too much for her. "Like this crash you keep talking about. You claim there were others?"

"Yes! More than forty."

"If that is true, then why are you alone?"

Mohinder grew quiet as the Spanish woman continued to stare at him, her sad brown eyes studying his face for any hint of a lie. "I... I left them," he confessed.

"Why?" she asked, her words softer. She was no longer angry, just confused and astonished.

"Because I..." His words quickly trailed off when he realized that he was at a loss. This woman had been stuck on this island for the past eight years and would likely know nothing about the serial killer named Sylar. Yet if she knew that he had been doing something as foolish and dangerous as hiding a wanted fugitive in a camp full of women and children then her unstable mind would probably cause her to do something terrible and rash. "I kept secrets," he explained. "I lied to them and... I couldn't take it anymore."

"So you admit that you are a liar," she said softly, hurt clear in her voice. Silence fell between the two of them as Herrera's eyes drifted back to the set of photographs clutched in her dark hands. "And Mira? Did you leave her too?"

"No," he whispered. "She was not on the plane." He closed his eyes tightly, pain consuming his heart as Mira's bright smile and seductive eyes ghosted into his mind. "She... she's gone," he choked, his voice too thick with emotion to speak properly. "She left me."

"I'm so sorry," she told him and she was. She knew pain and she knew loneliness, she'd seen horrible things that Mohinder could never even imagine, yet in that moment she pitied him. "I have something to show you."

Mohinder watched her get up from her place beside him and moved to the far corner of the shelter, disappearing from his sight for a moment. He heard the distinct sound of objects being pushed aside before Herrera finally reappeared beside him, holding a small wooden box in her hands. It was bent and covered by a thick layer of dust and grime that had warped its once polished exterior. Herrera looked at him quickly before carefully opening the lid and revealing two figures -- a man in a dark suit and a woman, most likely a ballerina, dressed in pink -- placed in the middle, frozen in mid-dance.

"It's a music box," she explained to him, most likely noticing the confused look on the Indian man's face, "but it's broken. It has been for a long time. It was a gift from my brother on my birthday."

"Alejandro?" he asked.

Herrera did not answer him. She merely clutched the music box quietly in her hands and gave him a quick nod. "It used to be such a comfort for me in the first few years here," she whispered running her long fingers against the once smooth surface.

His heart twisted and clenched with pity as he gazed at the sad expression on the young woman's face. An idea suddenly popped into Mohinder's head as he craned his neck upward and tried to look Herrera in the eyes. "I could fix it for you," he offered, yet his words seemed to only startle the Spanish woman. "I'm quite good with mechanical things," he explained. "It's a hobby of mine."

Herrera snapped the box shut quickly, taking it with her as she once again slipped behind the chain linked fence. His eyes followed her as best as he could, watching as she pulled out a syringe and scrapped it against a piece of sand paper. "Why did that woman leave you?" she asked him, as she pulled out a small bottle filled with a clear liquid. "Did you lie to her too? Drive her away?"

His insides grew cold with fear as he watched her plunge her syringe into the bottle, filling it with the liquid inside. "What are you doing?" he asked, his voice wavering with panic.

"Perhaps you don't want to tell me because it causes you too much pain," she continued as if he hadn't even spoken, carrying the syringe with her as she stepped around the fence. There was a dangerous look in her eyes as she studied his arm, readying herself to plunge into him.

"You don't have to do this!" he told her, but it was too late. She plunged the needle into him, injecting him with the liquid and knocking him out cold.

+-+-+-+

_"Marry me."_

_His heart beat quickened even as his exterior remained calm. He watched with nervous brown eyes as Mira's hand froze, her glass only mid way to her lips as she stared at him incredulously. "What?"_

_"You said we were not engaged until I asked you to marry me," he explained, suddenly feeling more hesitant the longer it took him to ask. "And I'm asking you now because I love you. Will you marry me?"_

_"Mohinder," she began._

_"I have a ring," he quickly cut in and he suddenly realized that he was making a real mess of things. He supposed that this wasn't exactly how she had pictured it. It wasn't how it went in the movies. There was supposed to be music and flowers and a well rehearsed speech, but it had all seemed so cheesy when he'd tried to plan this out. Instead he'd decided to just take her to an expensive restaurant and let the words come to him as best as they could. Yet he had forgotten that he had never been the most poetic man._

_Mohinder blushed, reaching into his pocket to pull out the small velvet box that he had been carrying around for months and slipping from his seat to get down on one knee. "Will you marry me?" he asked again, and he knew that his entire face must have been a fiery shade of red._

_Mira hesitated, looking around the restaurant and gazing at all the other patrons who were now watching them and waiting for her response. A small smile pulled at the corners of her lips as she extended her trembling hand towards his. "Yes," she whispered. "Yes I will."_

_The Indian man smiled, slipping the ring onto her finger -- he'd been waiting to do this for so long -- as he tried not to think about the way Mira kept looking around her, searching for a particular face among the sea of smiles._

+-+-+-+

Mohinder awoke with a jerk, his head buzzing and his mouth tasting like cotton. He groaned, pushing himself off of the wooden desk he had been resting on. His hands were now free, but his feet were still chained.

"I'm sorry for the sedative," Herrera's voice greeted, causing the Indian man to turn and glare at her. "It was the only safe way for me to move you." She fell silent as she watched Mohinder grab the music box and then look over the tools she had spread out over the table in front of him. "You offered to fix my music box after all I've done to you -- hit you, shocked you... Why?"

Mohinder scowled bitterly at her words. Although he still pitied the young woman sitting next to him, he was getting rather sick of slipping in and out of consciousness. "Do you want me to fix it or not?"

"Yes, please," Herrera answered quickly, her voice desperate and he soon found himself feeling sorry for her again.

"Then I want to know your name," he said, turning to stare at her. She paled slightly at the question. Perhaps it was too much for her? Too intimate? "Your first name."

"Maya," she told him, her voice quivering slightly.

He smiled kindly at her, hoping she would know that he still meant her no harm. "Maya," he repeated, before reaching out to grab the tools and began to gently pry open the back of the music box. It was broken, but he was confident he'd be able to fix it. "And how did you end up on this island, Maya?"

Maya sighed, her eyes lingering on the music box that Mohinder was carefully pulling apart. He could tell she didn't want to tell him, but since he was going out of his way to fix her beloved gift she would share anything he wanted. "We were part of a science team."

"A science team," he repeated, staring at the gears carefully. "You and Alejandro?"

"Yes," she breathed. "We were students at a university. The trip they were offering us was... an honor. We were so proud." She grew silent again, allowing the memories of her long lost brother to swim in her mind, before she pushed them aside and continued. "Our vessel was three days out of Tahiti when our instruments malfunctioned. It was at night during a terrible storm..." Her words trailed off as her eyes grew distant and her frail body shuddered as if suddenly struck by a strong gust of wind. "The sounds," she whispered hesitantly, pausing for a moment before urging herself to go on. "The ship slammed into rocks, ran aground, and the hull breached beyond repair. So, we made camp, dug out this temporary shelter. Nearly two months we survived here, two months before..."

Mohinder found his hands going still as he listened to Maya's story. When her words faded away, his heart beat dropped, fearing that she would not continue, so he urged her on. "The distress signal," he supplied. "The message I heard... you said 'it killed them all.'"

Maya's eyes darkened as tears crept into her wide orbs, a haunted look spreading across her features as the past slowly came back to her. "We were coming back from the Black Rock," she explained. "It was them. They were the carriers."

"Who were the carriers?"

"The company," she said.

The Indian man frowned at her words, studying her expression to see if she was being serious, but he knew better. "What company?" he asked, weary and confused and tired of this insane babbling. "There's a 'company' on this island? And what is the Black Rock? Have you seen other people on this island?"

She turned towards him then, her eyes hollow and her skin unusually pale as she stared at him, desperate to get her point across. "No," she whispered. "But I hear them. Out there in the jungle... they whisper... they call themselves that. A 'Company'." Her words faded away and her eyes grew sad as she gazed at him, most likely seeing the horrified disbelief in his eyes. "You think I'm crazy," she concluded, her voice telling him clearly that she was on the verge of tears.

"I think you've been alone too long," he told her, going back to the task at hand.

The shelter fell into an uneasy silence as Mohinder continued to work and Maya rested her face in her hands, fighting off the urge to cry. His pity for her only increased the longer he sat there. The poor creature. So lonely, so lost. He could only hope that this small gesture would help to heal her mind.

The minutes stretched on, but after a while, he had accomplished his task. He slid the back of the music box on with a click before turning it right side up and opening it. Music soon flooded the underground shelter and Maya's head slowly lifted from her hands, a wide smile spreading across her tear stained face.

"You see," he said, handing the box over to the Spanish woman, "some things can be fixed."

Tears instantly sprang into the woman's eyes, but Mohinder knew from the watery smile on her full lips that they were happy tears. "Thank you," she breathed, watching the figures dance and twirl to the music. "Thank you so much."

Mohinder smiled as he watched the frail woman gaze lovingly at the token, cradling it in her hands like it was the most precious object in the world (and Mohinder had no doubt that, to her, it was). A part of him was content to sit there and watch her treasure this brief moment of happiness, but a bigger part of him was very mindful of the chains around his feet and the fact that in the past twenty four hours he had been stabbed, beaten, electrocuted, and drugged.

He wanted to go back to the camp, he needed to tell the others about what he had found, and he needed to put as much space between himself and the unstable woman sitting next to him as possible.

"Maya," he whispered, gaining her attention, even if her eyes never left the box. "Please let me go."

Her eyes turned towards him then. They were wide and filled with anger and fear as she snapped the box shut. "Go?" she asked, heart break clear in her words.

"To the people I told you about," he explained.

Maya frowned, shaking her head solemnly at his words. "You can't go," she told him. "You have to stay here. It's not safe."

The geneticist frowned at her words. "What's not safe?"

"You need me," she snapped. "You can't go."

In spite of everything he knew about her, in spite of her tragic past and the pity that still sat in his heart for her, Mohinder still found himself rolling his eyes at Maya's words. That was a phrase he was _far_ too familiar with. He didn't know what it was about him, but apparently he produced some sort of pheromone that attracted crazy people. "Maya," he began, but his words were cut off.

Both Mohinder and Maya glanced up above them when a strange sound greeted their ears. It sounded as if some wild animal were clawing at something over head and was soon followed by a deep roar that sent a shiver down Mohinder's spine.

"What was that?" he asked.

Maya sighed, grabbing a nearby rifle before heading towards the ladder that lead to the shelter's sole exit. "If we're lucky, it might just be one of the bears."

The geneticist paled at her words. A bear was lucky? "It might be that creature," he said, hoping to scare the woman out of leaving. He had seen the Monster rip trees out of the ground. What could Maya hope to do with a mere rifle? His words did help to stop her for a moment, but the look she gave him was one of complete confusion. "The Monster?" he supplied.

Her expression quickly shifted from confusion to pity as she continued to grip the ladder in her hands. "There's no such thing as Monsters, Mohinder." With that said, the Spanish woman took off, disappearing into the outside world and leaving Mohinder behind.

He held his breath, listening for any signs that she had left the area or was nearby, but he only heard silence. It was then that he decided to throw caution to the wind. He grabbed one of the screw drivers that he had used to repair the music box and bent down to study the chains that were attached to his ankles. They were rusted and weak and Mohinder knew he would be able to pry them off.

+-+-+-+

_Mohinder frowned as he gazed down at Mira's tear stained face. Her whole body was trembling as she slid the ring off of her finger, holding it tightly in her delicate hand. "I spoke to him today," she told him._

_"Him?" Mohinder repeated. "Who?"_

_"The man who has been attacking me," she said, her voice quivering as tears once again flooded her deep brown eyes. "He told me... he told me that you were the reason for all this."_

_The genetics professor felt his eyes widen and his skin lose its color at her words. Him? How could he be the cause of this? He had no enemies and he loved Mira dearly, more than anything. "I don't understand," he began slowly. "What did he mean by that?"_

_She sniffled, squeezing her eyes shut tightly as tears slipped out and stained her dark features. "I don't know," she whispered. "All I know is that... he said-"_

_"Did you see him?" he cut in. It didn't matter what this mad man said. It only mattered that he never hurt Mira again. If she had seen him, then they could go to the police, put an end to these horrific attacks, and finally be able to get on with their lives._

_"No," she told him, regret clear in her voice. "He... he attacked me from behind. He... he grabbed me and... He dragged me into an alley. He told me that... He said that if I married you..."_

_"Mira don't," he said, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close against his chest. "Don't do this to yourself. You don't have to listen to this monster. We'll call the police and then we'll leave. We can leave the country if you want."_

_"He'll find us," she sobbed, burying her face into his chest. "He said so! He said he'll kill me if I married you. He'll kill me and then he'll kill you."_

_"I won't let that happen!" Mohinder promised, holding her so tightly that he felt certain she'd snap in half. He couldn't let this happen. He wouldn't let her go because there was a mad man who was jealous of them. He was in control of this, he had to be. "I love you Mira."_

_She trembled, turning in his arms to face him. Her eyes were wide and red with tears as her full lips quivered in fear. "I love you too, Mohinder," she told him, her voice uneven and small, "but I can't live like this anymore. I can't keep looking over my shoulder and wondering if today will be the day I die. I can't..." Her words faded away as she pushed back against him, breaking their embrace. She sniffled, cupping his hand and placing the ring he had given her in it. "You should take this back."_

_"Mira," he began, but she silenced him with a kiss._

_"You will find me in the next life, if not in this one," she whispered._

+-+-+-+

When his chains gave way at his ankles, Mohinder did not waste a single second. He all but leaped from his chair, ignoring the numb feeling in his limbs, and scrambled to grab everything he could and shove it in his bag. He took his clothes, his books, and then grabbed some of Maya's supplies: papers, maps, anything he could get his hand on. Once he was certain he had everything he would need he headed towards the hatch. Mohinder's hands were barely on the ladder when he spotted the rifles resting against the far wall. He decided to take one before climbing out of the shelter and into the sunlight.

Mohinder cringed at the sun's harsh rays, but fought against the discomfort. His eyes quickly adjusted themselves to the brightness of the outside world, and from what he could tell, Maya was not around. He took off, heading towards what he assumed would be the shore line as quickly as possible, but he was at a major disadvantage. His leg was still injured from the spike that had stabbed him, he had been unconscious when Maya had dragged him to her shelter, and he had spent the last twenty four hours being tortured and without a drop of water or a bite of food.

The Indian grunted, pushing his weariness aside as he wandered through the jungle. He had to get back to their camp. Surely there would be _something_ on one of the maps he had found that would help them.

He couldn't have gotten very far when he heard the distinct sound of a twig being snapped behind him. Without a moment's hesitation, Mohinder grabbed his rifle and turned to face the person behind him, only to find that it was Maya, her own rifle trained on his head.

"Put the gun down, Maya," he barked, ignoring the fact that she had the upper hand over him.

The Spanish woman did not respond to his words. She merely frowned and kept her aim steady. He could tell from the sad look in her eyes that she did not want to do this, but she would if he forced her to.

"Maya, please. Don't do this."

"Why are you leaving me?" she whispered, a sob clear in her voice.

"Because I have to," he sighed.

"No! You don't." Tears suddenly appeared in her deep brown eyes and for a moment, Mohinder considered firing. She would have been distracted by her emotions and it would give him the temporary upper hand. Yet he pushed those thoughts aside. Even after everything she had done, he could not shoot her. He was not a killer. "You can stay here with me. I promise, I'll take care of you."

Mohinder sighed, throwing his weapon to the ground and putting his hands above his head. "I don't want to hurt you," he told her sincerely.

"You already have," she sniffled, tightening her grip on the rifle. "It's good that you threw it away," she said, referring to the gun. "The firing pin has been removed. They did not notice either... when I shot them."

The Indian man felt his insides grow cold at her admission. "You killed your team?"

"I had to!" she sobbed. "They were sick!"

"Sick?"

"It took them from me," she told him, her voice wavering the longer she spoke. "One after the other. They were already lost."

"So you killed them?"

"What if we had been rescued? Other people could have been infected. I couldn't let that happen."

He grew silent, realizing that Maya just might shoot him, she may believe that he was "sick" too and kill him here in cold blood. "What about Alejandro?" he asked. "Did you shoot him too?"

"No," she choked out. "The Company took him. They took him away and they left me... like this."

Even in this moment, staring down the barrel of a gun facing almost certain death, Mohinder could not find it in his heart to hate this poor creature. She had been through so much, done such horrible things, and had the one person she cared about -- her only family member in a strange and terrifying place -- taken away from her. "I am not sick," he told her.

"I know," she whispered.

"Then why shoot me?"

The tears that had been flooding her eyes now silently rolled down her flushed cheeks. "Because I can't let you go," she told him, a slight quiver in her voice. "You don't understand what it's like, not to have someone to talk to, to touch..."

"'You'll find me in the next life, if not this one.'"

Maya blinked, lowering her weapon slightly as she gazed at him in utter confusion. "What?"

"Those were the last words Mira spoke to me," he explained, his voice surprisingly calm considering the danger he was in. "She did not leave because I lied. She left because I could not protect her against my own demons. The day she left, I swore that I would rid myself, everyone, of the nightmare that haunted us, and then I would get her back. Because I would finally be the man she deserved."

Maya's hands trembled, shook, as she barely managed to keep her hold on the weapon in her arms.

"Come with me," he offered. "You can live with us at our camp. You don't have to be alone anymore."

At long last the rifle slipped from her fingers and she approached him. Mohinder lowered his arms slowly, not knowing what to expect from her. He was startled when she leaned forward and kissed him full on the lips. He stiffened, tasting the loneliness and fear she had clung to for eight long years. He wanted to take her away from all that, to keep her safe in their group, but he knew even before she pulled away that this kiss was merely meant as a good bye.

"Watch them," she whispered. "Closely."

With that said, she pulled away, picking up the two rifles they had thrown to the ground and disappeared back into the jungle.


End file.
